And the rain it raineth every day

Trevor Hoyne

I attended the thanksgiving service for Trevor today, only finding out that he had died a few days ago. We had drifted apart when he left town for the country about 15 years ago, and yet he was one who had been incredibly important to me at one time. We went to the Anglican Franciscan monastery in Stroud, New South Wales together in search of spiritual truth and I can say that he was the first person with whom I meditated and who suggested to me that there may be an inner part of us that is beyond the ego.

Trevor was a troubled searcher after truth, a man born in London during WWII to dominant parents. His father died early and his mother overwhelmed him with suffocating love. He worked with Tom Keating (a different one!), the rogue fine art faker in his early years, and became an art restorer. He married a wonderful German woman, and they moved to Australia and he worked at the National Gallery, but he became very ill through past excesses in life (heavy drinking and smoking) and had to retire early.

Trevor's post-work years were his belated attempts to make sense of it all and he was a brave man who read much, meditated much and maintained a child-like sense of humour and love despite his sadnesses. He drifted off to Indian religion, becoming a devotee of Sai Baba - not my cup of tea but he was clearly trying to escape his straitened English roots. His daughter, Hannah, said to me today that he had not wanted to leave yet, so tonight in the meditation I asked him to accompany me and to leave in peace when the final gong sounded. I felt honoured to have him with me on this journey. Requiescat in pacem.

On dependency, or The end of the red bubbles

I have been vomiting red bubbles on the word "dependency" for twenty years now, yet I  have always felt that "independency" did not score much better either. 

The text below is from the book I quoted a couple of months ago, "Women and desire", by Polly Young-Eisendrath. Interesting approach that allows to see clearer. Italics are mine: 

"Mature dependency, a term I borrow from the psychoanalyst Ronald Fairbairn, means a style of dependency in adult life in which you are grateful, appreciative, and free to depend openly because you know the importance of give-and-take and are dependable as well as dependent. This style of dependency should be a goal in all aspects of adult life, both in the workplace and at home. 

Mature dependency is in stark contrast to both the immature, clinging dependency that is exemplified by an infant or young child and the anxious, defensive independency that is exemplified by the adolescent struggling for emancipation....

Instead of believing that we develop from being dependent to being  independent human beings, I believe that we develop our ability to be dependent -- from early infant dependency through the dependency of childhood and the defensive pseudoindependency of adolescence to the final mature dependency of adulthood. 

Mature dependency is a developmental achievement, available only to those who can establish a mutual rythm of give-and-take with a partner or a friend. One has to be an equal in order to respect that other as much as the self (not more, not less). A key part of mature dependency is trust".  

Yes. What I've been vomiting on was immature dependency, what I've been instinctively sceptic of was immature independency. Neither is satisfactory. If  we are to grow up, we have to move beyond, acknowledging  both our frailty and strength, our dependency and dependability. Then, perhaps, we can access the reality of a partnership built on trust as opposed to a manipulative (in)dependence built on fear. 

Rencontre Fatale :)

King Creosote & Jon Hopkins - Honest Words

The Divine Present

Our life is unfolding here and now. Every breath in is a new beginning; every breath out is a letting go. To be fully present is to say no to the past memory that would paint the future in the same colours (especially where those colours mark fear and lack of courage), not to mention that it dishonours the indwelling divinity. I say this for myself but perhaps it will speak to you too.

When I became a Christian, by Adrian Plass

When I became a Christian I said, Lord, now fill me in,
Tell me what I’ll suffer in this world of shame and sin.
He said, your body may be killed, and left to rot and stink,
Do you still want to follow me?
I said Amen - I think.
I think Amen, Amen I think, I think I say Amen,
I’m not completely sure, can you just run through that again?
You say my body may be killed and left to rot and stink,
Well, yes, that sounds terrific, Lord, I say Amen - I think.

But, Lord, there must be other ways to follow you, I said,
I really would prefer to end up dying in my bed.
Well, yes, he said, you could put up with the sneers and scorn and spit,
Do you still want to follow me? I said Amen - a bit.
A bit Amen, Amen a bit, a bit I say Amen,
I’m not entirely sure, can we just run through that again?
You say I could put up with sneers and also scorn and spit,
Well, yes, I’ve made my mind up, and I say, Amen - a bit.

Well I sat back and thought a while, then tried a different ploy,
Now, Lord, I said, the Good book says that Christians live in joy.
That’s true he said, you need the joy to bear the pain and sorrow,
So do you want to follow me, I said, Amen - tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Lord, I’ll say it then, that’s when I’ll say Amen,
I need to get it clear, can I just run through that again?
You say that I will need the joy, to bear the pain and sorrow,
Well, yes, I think I’ve got it straight, I’ll say Amen - tomorrow.

He said, Look, I’m not asking you to spend an hour with me
A quick salvation sandwich and a cup of sanctity,
The cost is you, not half of you, but every single bit,
Now tell me, will you follow me? I said Amen - I quit.
I’m very sorry Lord I said, I’d like to follow you,
But I don’t think religion is a manly thing to do.
He said forget religion then, and think about my Son,
And tell me if you’re man enough to do what he has done.

Are you man enough to see the need, and man enough to go,
Man enough to care for those whom no one wants to know,
Man enough to say the thing that people hate to hear,
To battle through Gethsemane in loneliness and fear.
And listen! Are you man enough to stand it at the end,
The moment of betrayal by the kisses of a friend,
Are you man enough to hold your tongue, and man enough to cry?
When nails break your body-are you man enough to die?
Man enough to take the pain, and wear it like a crown,
Man enough to love the world and turn it upside down,
Are you man enough to follow me, I ask you once again?
I said, Oh Lord, I’m frightened, but I also said Amen.

Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen; Amen, Amen, Amen,