MEDITATION 88

As I sit here by my candle musing before committing my thoughts to paper, flowers have come to my mind, bunches of freshly cut flowers.

Last week an item on the BBC News caught my attention. A young boy of junior school age from the North of England has been spending his weekly pocket money on bunches of flowers. He buys them and then offers them to strangers in the street. (I apologise that I do not have the exact details – I cannot find the item on the BBC News website.) He was filmed offering the flowers to passers by and their eyes lit up and smiles appeared on their faces as he said to them ‘Would you like some flowers for free?’ Not only was this an act of regular generosity on the boy’s part but also he was able to bring a little happiness into the lives of people he didn’t know. It was a cheering and uplifting item in the otherwise dreary news bulletin. A far cry from the arrest and arraigning of Donald Trump!

I have often found in my career as a teacher that young people can be very generous with their time, effort and money when collecting for good causes. There is a natural generosity of spirit and a raw compassion in young people in particular, something which we have always tried to encourage in my school. It is sad, perhaps, that as people grow older, the cares of life sometimes prevent them from maintaining that generosity of spirit. Also adults can sometimes grow more insular, cynical and selfish. And yet, when adults do become involved in charity work, especially when it is a community effort or a major appeal, they can of course be incredibly generous with their time, effort and money. And also with their own homes -as has been the case with those who have taken in Ukrainian and other refugees, (like my dear friends Alan and Helen in Yorkshire).

Perhaps that youthful generous spirit comes alive in us again when we get involved in some kind of work that is trying to help others. Perhaps this is because it involves working with people and helping people. Inevitably we come out of ourselves and take a wider view. There is a certain freedom about giving in this way. Donating to charity is important but being actively involved is more enervating.

The London Marathon takes place on April 23rd – Shakespeare’s birthday. The first one took place in 1981. Two years later, I went with some friends to watch the third marathon on the course at Blackheath as I lived nearby. I remember it was a rainy Sunday as we cheered the runners on. It wasn’t as colourful an event as it is now. There wasn’t so much of a carnival atmosphere then but nevertheless there was an encouraging crowd cheering on the participants. There was a warm communal spirit through the cold drizzle. In that year, 1983, 19,735 runners took part. In 2019 there were 56.398 participants. Through the London Marathon, millions have been raised for charities over the years.

It is wonderful that so many amateur runners (of varied ability, experience and ages) give 100% commitment to training for the marathon over many months not only for the sense of achievement in taking part and hopefully completing the course, but in aid of charities. My friend Henry, who posts these blogs for me is running for charity in the London Marathon next week. (Do support him -details are below – it still not too late to support him!). Another dear friend of mine, Steven, has run three London marathons for charity. He also volunteered at Crisis for Christmas one year.

My dear friend Marcus Aurelius at the start of his ‘Meditations’, which are the inspiration for my own, takes great pains to explain what he admires in his family members, tutors and friends (alive and deceased) : for example: ‘From Severus: love of family, love of truth, love of justice’. The subtext of these is perhaps a desire to emulate them. I greatly admire my friends for their commitment to charitable deeds (among other things). Perhaps I should follow Marcus and attempt to emulate them myself.

Perhaps I should follow in their footsteps – or rather tracks! I do not think I would be able to endure the training for the London Marathon. Besides I am unable to run on hard surfaces, as I have a frayed disc. When a physiotherapist informed me of this several years ago, while encouraging me to do exercise, I heaved a sigh of relief. Athletics have never been my forte somehow. I was always last in cross country races at school, not that it would matter as far as the London Marathon goes, as you can reach the finishing line at whatever time you are able.

However I am coming up to my 70th year so perhaps I ought to engage in some special event for charity: a sponsored reading of Shakespeare for example. Or a reading of the all seven volumes of Marcel Proust’s ‘In Search of Lost Time’ (though not in the original French as Marcel’s sentences can be tortuous enough in English!). No it would have to something outdoors. Skydiving! Yes that would be something!

In the lockdown, my friend Peter suggested that we should always smile at people who we encounter in the street (or on the bus or in shops for that matter) because we do not know what they might be going through in their lives. In those dark days (which seem historical now) people would smile at each other in the street or park. They would even say hello and make brief conversation sometimes. This practice appears to have declined, although I have noticed that people are more aware of each other on the street or in the bus and sometimes a little talkative. Maybe it’s because I am now a retired old buffer!

That is what charity boils down to: being aware of other people. Like the boy offering flowers to strangers.

Ave atque Vale – until the next blog.

If you would like to support Henry here is the link:

LINK: https://2023tcslondonmarathon.enthuse.com/pf/henry-riley

He is running running for Global’s Make Some Noise, which supports hundreds of small charities across the UK – everything from food banks, to mental health and domestic abuse helplines, to carer support, and much more.

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I would also value any feedback on nzolad53@gmail.com or my Facebook page or Twitter.

MEDITATION 73

This evening the candle beside me is not lit in imitation of Marcus Aurelius writing his own ‘Meditations’ far into the night. Nor is the candle there on my table in an attempt to create a relaxed ambiance conducive to writing. It is kindled for the people of Ukraine who at this moment are suffering a horrific invasion with heroic endurance.

I have struggled to write a meditation in the last week or so. It has been a while since my last one. The ideas in my head have been mown down by the relentless onslaught of events in Ukraine and Russia, which I have found myself compulsively following on the BBC News, so courageously reported by their correspondents.

But then, the peace of Europe has suddenly become precarious after nearly eighty years, a peace I have been fortunate to enjoy all my life and a peace and a freedom I have flourished in. It is a peace and freedom I have taken for granted, until these recent days. So perhaps I can be excused if my thoughts have been too distracted to put into words.

Once again refugees are shuffling across Europe carrying their suitcases. Once again they rush to climb aboard overcrowded trains, holding children aloft to make sure they find a space however small in a carriage to freedom. Freedom from fear: fear of shelling and bombing; fear of the onslaught of the enemy at the gates and freedom from the potential fear of living under a new repressive regime.

In the faces of the children I see my own father and his sister, aged 8 and 5 when German troops invaded Poland in 1939, who became refugees themselves through the Second World War. After the end of the war in 1945, when over 11 million people were homeless in Europe and no longer living in their native country, the phrase ‘displaced person’ was used rather than the term ‘refugee’. In the last few days in Ukraine, with the conflict and ensuing evacuation both escalating, the numbers of ‘displaced persons’ heading for the West is fast approaching a million. They have become displaced so quickly that I wonder if their minds have become displaced too, though not their hearts, which remain in their homeland.

As refugees, Ukrainians have already found or are discovering a temporary refuge in neighbouring countries: Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, Moldova, Romania and opportunities for further sanctuary are swiftly emerging in Europe. The welcome and generosity of these countries is staggering, heartwarming and humbling. In these dark days we are seeing the worst of human nature and the best. The U.K. government must play its own part and in the same openhanded spirit of goodwill, rather than letting open hands be bound together by red tape.

It is difficult to know how to respond to the deeply tragic events we are witnessing, except to make a donation to relief agencies. So much has already been said in the last days and the international response has been at all levels generally supportive of President Zelensky and Ukraine and condemnatory of President Putin and Russia.

Perhaps a Ukrainian lady can comment. She was interviewed on the BBC News about twelve days ago, when Russian forces were amassing on the borders several days before the invasion began. The interview was filmed at the rudimentary checkpoint between Ukraine and separatist Donetsk. The woman, who was middle aged, had to go through the checkpoint to Ukraine for her regular cancer treatment. Originally the checkpoint wouldn’t be there of course. She was understandably fearful and could not understand what was happening. It seemed senseless to her. She opened her arms and said ‘I only want to love everyone: I want to give the world a big hug.’ I am sure many Russians do too. But sadly not their leader. As Shakespeare says in his play ‘Measure for Measure’:

‘but man, proud man,

Dressed in a little brief authority,

Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,

His glassy essence, like an angry ape

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven

As make the angels weep.’

In my numbness and emptiness I turn to another poet, W.H.Auden (1907-1973) and his poem ‘September 1 1939’ which he wrote in New York, when war was imminent in Europe. He is perhaps now best remembered for his poem ‘Stop the clocks’ which featured in the romantic film ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’.

‘September 1 1939’ was reprinted in ‘The New Yorker’ and then some newspapers after the 9/11 bombing of the World Trade Centre in New York in 2002. It became a kind of anthem associated with that other horrific event. It is a long poem but the last lines suggest a response to the unfolding tragedy in Ukraine:

‘Defenceless under the night

Our world in stupor lies;

Yet, dotted everywhere,

Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair

Show an affirming flame.’

May we all show an affirming flame. And may we remember with St Francis that ‘All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.’ Or an affirming flame.

Ave atque Vale! Hail and Farewell.

PS: The quotations in this latest meditation may have appeared in earlier ones. I make no apology – they express my response at present.

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MEDITATION 55

May I first mention, dear reader, two mistakes, in the last two meditations, which a couple of friends have very kindly pointed out to me. In Meditation 53, ‘I pad’ should read ‘iPad’ and in Mediation 54, ‘fit of peak’ should read ‘fit of pique.’ I stand corrected.

Sitting here as usual beside my candle I am thinking back to a year ago, March 9th 2020, which was the last time I visited a theatre. It was the Royal Opera House, where I attended a performance of Beethoven’s only opera, ‘Fidelio.’ How was I to know then that I wouldn’t be visiting a theatre with friends again for some time in the future? Also how was I to foresee that eating a meal with friends in a restaurant would be a rare experience indeed over the months that followed? Then a few weeks later, we were in total lockdown and here we are now, still locked down a year later, despite a few months of respite here and there.

Beethoven’s opera is a very moving plea for political freedom. A political prisoner, Florestan, is unjustly imprisoned and about to be executed but he is saved by his faithful wife, Leonora, the ‘Fidelio’ of the title. Little did I know when watching the opera and being transported by Beethoven’s rapturous music, that we would be in a kind of imprisonment ourselves a few week’s later – but in a just cause.

Marcus’ stoicism has certainly been stretched to the limit within me in the last twelve months. He writes, ‘You have the power over your mind – not outside events. Realise this and you will have strength.’ This is true of course, but difficult when my iPhone wants to have power over my mind all the time and it is very difficult to have the strength to resist that insistent mistress, the iPhone! He also advocates, ‘Confine yourself to the present.’ This has been most useful over these last months. Concentrating on and enjoying the present moment has helped me get through, as have family and friends, my dear friends. St Thomas Aquinas, the medieval theologian observes that ‘There is nothing on the earth to be prized more than friendship.’ How right he is.

Where are we now, a year on? From the friends I have shared with, it seems we are all exhausted and burnt out with living on adrenalin as much as coping with the changing restrictions. We are like an old clock that has slowly wound down. And, much as it has been a comfort and support, our eyes and our brains are exhausted with technology, at least, mine are. I am streamed away and zoomed out, exhausted by a plethora of media platforms and endless choices for digital entertainment. I feel as if I am like a little over-tired child, unable to settle to anything yet refusing to give in and rest. Rest is what we will need when all this is over.

In the last few days I have been in my garden inspecting my plants. When the weather is cold and rainy and especially when the sky is overcast or just dull and dismal with no sign of the sun, it is easy to forget that signs of Spring have appeared. Buds have emerged on my magnolia and apple trees and on my pink camellia shrub, the first slithers of pink are just appearing in the buds. My daffodils and alliums have also made an appearance, though they are not yet in bloom. Similarly there are new vivid red and green shoots on my rose bushes.

I think it is the same with our current situation: our eyes are dulled to the signs of hope (such as the vaccine) by the monotony of these months. We have been locked down into winter and probably have never felt winter so keenly or heavily. Though we have been overstimulated as usual by streaming and media platforms, these haven’t been enough to alleviate the weight of this winter. Usually perhaps we would get through winter by being overstimulated in other ways: by seeing people, going out for meals, socialising and partying over the Christmas season, jetting off to the sun, Christmas shopping or taking in a show or an exhibition. Most of this has been impossible or severely restricted. So, we have felt the weight of winter.

It seems that we have felt the weight of winter on our shoulders to the extent that maybe we have not noticed the first signs of Spring at our feet. We are all so exhausted with the physical and emotional demands of the last year that it is difficult to perceive the signs of hope, the light in the tunnel.

The other day I came across a video clip on the BBC News website. It was from a frozen lake in Canada somewhere – the location was not specified. A man with a broad grin on his bearded face was joyfully dancing a Bhangra on the ice. Gurdeep Pandher had just received his first vaccine shot and was dancing to ‘share the positivity and joy he felt’.

I have recently discovered a rare word from the 16th Century which is not in use anymore but should be at this present time. It is ‘respair’. It means ‘fresh hope and recovery from despair’. Now after long dark months of near despair at times, we are in a period of respair, a time of fresh hope and recovery. The man on the ice, therefore, was performing a dance of respair. Perhaps it is time for us to dance too, to dance in our hearts. To share the positivity and look to the coming months with fresh hope.

Ave atque Vale – Hail and Farewell – until the next blog!

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A selection of previous meditations is also available in audio form as ‘Meditations of Neilus Aurelius’ ASMR on YouTube.

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Many thanks