MEDITATION 107

I am not gazing at my candle as I begin this meditation. Instead I am looking at the other corner of the lounge where my Christmas tree stands. It is a large tree from the floor and virtually to the ceiling. It dominates the corner but not the room. Although, when I am sitting in my armchair, as now, or on the sofa opposite my eyes are inevitably drawn towards it, whether the twinkling lights are switched on or not.

Its many branches are filled with baubles and decorations as might be expected. Most of the branches bear decorations from my travels and some are gifts from friends and family over the years. Here and there on the tree there are also some I have purchased at exhibitions and places of interest I have visited. Museums and art galleries tend to display a wide range of merchandise in their gift shops these days, including Christmas decorations. If you are a regular reader of these meditations, you will know that I have a weakness for museum and art gallery gift shops, which has also led to a comprehensive collection of fridge magnets in my kitchen!

Scattered around the tree are several baubles from the Vatican museum, with miniature copies of Nativity pictures by medieval and renaissance artists on them. They are among my favourites. I have seven, I think, and my dear friend Will has the other seven. They are from our first trip to Rome and came in a large octagonal box which somehow I managed to squeeze into my small airline size suitcase to bring them home. Will has quite recently got into the ‘bauble habit’ himself and has given me some very colourful handmade ones over the last two years for my birthday.

There are also a Pinocchio and a pottery renaissance window from Venice, a streetcar from San Francisco, baubles from New York and Stratford upon Avon, a ceramic bell from Assisi, an embroidered cloth fleur de lis from Paris and an embroidered cloth thistle from Edinburgh, a wooden Krakowiak dancer from Krakow not to mention several from Vancouver Island with First Nations designs. A glass hummingbird graces one of the branches to remind me of the Kolibri theatre in Budapest (‘Kolibri’ means ‘hummingbird’) along with several others from my trips there, as might be imagined, including several delicately painted wooden eggs (which are actually Easter eggs, as Hungarians and other Eastern European countries have a tradition of an Easter tree). I am only describing a selection of my tree decorations or this meditation would be rather long.

I have so many special decorations now that there is less and less room each year for the ones I bought in shops to help fill the tree’s branches when I first purchased it, colourful though they are. Most of them have been relegated to the back of the tree and the bottom branches now. But as they are part of the history of the tree, they have their place too.

Because so many of the decorations are from places I have visited I am reminded of those places and whoever was with me when I was there. So, as I look at the tree now, to me it is not just a Christmas tree but also a ‘travel tree’ or rather a ‘memories tree’. It is good to sit and and look and remember. To remember not just the places but the people I was with at the time. So it is also a ‘friendship tree.’

When I first began writing these meditations (in fact it was in Meditation No 2, I think!) I mentioned that I was once in Paris, in the church of St Pierre de Montmartre, the oldest church in that district. In that medieval church there was a small chapel with a stained glass window of abstract design. I recalled that the design reminded me of all my friendships, each panel unique and part of the design of my life. The stained glass greatly heartened me at that time, just as this tree does now as it too reminds me of my friendships. As Marcus Aurelius writes in his own ‘Meditations’ (in Book 6) ‘Whenever you want to cheer yourself up think of the good qualities of your friends’. As I do now.

Of course the tree also reminds me of my own childhood. What Christmas tree does not remind us of our childhood? Christmas is the children’s festival.The excitement and the sense of wonder and of awe: that Christmas morning feeling. Wonder and awe seem to be in small supply in this negative, cynical ,weary and war-torn world of ours. ‘Unto us a child is born’; goes the carol, meaning the Christ child. May a child be born in each one of us again this Christmas, and may we experience that Christmas morning feeling anew. And may we remember the child freezing in a dingy in the ocean or playing in the rubble of a bombed out street.

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

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Christmas Vatican Museum

Travel Rome

Friendship Museums and Art Galleries

Pinocchio New York

Venice

San Francisco Stratford upon Avon

Assisi Paris Monmartre

Edinburgh Krakow

Vancouver Island Kolibri Theatre Budapest

First Nations Easter tree

St Pierre de Montmartre Marcus Aurelius Meditations

Meditation 95

As I sit here beside my candle I have found that my thoughts have slipped back into Drama teacher mode. Please understand I have not been walking around my lounge as if I was back in my Drama studio at school, teaching an imaginary lesson to imaginary students. I am not living in the past, just yet! Although in an imaginary lesson the students are at least attentive, being invisible! However, in my teaching days, I would sometimes practice a lesson at home, especially if the text or topic was new.
My thinking this evening has gone into Drama mode because I have been considering different styles of acting, having recently returned to acting myself. An ex student who is now a film director asked me if I would like to take on a role in one of his projects. The film was going to be shot on location in South London, not in a major film studio like Shepperton down the road, sadly! He asked if I would play a nasty, racist pensioner. Not a very glamorous role for my professional film debut either! It was a professional engagement, as I was being paid a fee. It was also an important project: a short training film, sponsored by Southwark Council, about how to deal with racism.
A good friend of mine helped me develop a South London accent which is different from the quasi -Eastenders one I had been adopting when rehearsing at home. So I did engage in some research! Apparently, South Londoners have a tendency to play down ends of words (unless they are angry). This is the exact opposite of my vocal training, of course, which I passed onto my students. I was always telling them to make ends of words clear. This is very important on stage so as to be heard by the audience. So a slight mental adjustment on my part was needed. It was all about getting into role, after all.
So, there I was, a week later, standing on a landing in a block of council flats in Peckham, surrounded by the film crew, while verbally abusing a ‘Nigerian cleaner’ on the landing below. The cleaner, played by an actor called Glen, had no lines in the scene in response to my abuse. The crew had filmed him cleaning the floor first and were now filming his facial reactions while I repeated my abusive line off camera so that he could react to it. I also had to pretend to spit on the floor, shouting to him to clean it up. Yes: I was not a very nice character!
Then it was time for the crew to film me. My character was leaving his flat to go shopping so I had a couple of empty carrier bags under my arm. I had to pretend to close the door of the flat to my left, see the cleaner on the landing underneath, deliver my abusive lines, spit on the floor and then walk to the lift to the right and press the button to go down.

We rehearsed it a few times and then we were ready for a ‘take’. Alex shouted ‘Action’. I moved my hand on the door handle of of the flat as if I had just locked it. I was about to turn and see Glen below me, when the door of the flat suddenly flew open and a lady in a pink dressing gown stood in the doorway.
‘Here – what’s going on?’, she said to me (or words to that effect), ruining the scene. She thought I was a burglar trying the door. I can’t understand why she hadn’t heard Alex shouting instructions earlier, or me shouting my abusive line down the stairwell for that matter. Alex had to explain that we were filming. She then became demure, apologised and retreated back into her flat. Apparently, no-one from Southwark Council had informed the residents that filming was taking place!
Despite this unexpected interruption we were finished in an hour. I found it was quite a relaxing experience even though I had to focus and stay in the zone repeating my performance for the crew. I did not have to continually project my voice as on stage. Also, it was a very short scene, of course, and a long way from playing a major role such as Prospero from Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’ which I played several years ago.
I was experiencing what I used to tell my students in my classes: that film acting is more low key than stage acting and can therefore take less effort. I remember several actors talking about this in TV interviews.
However, film acting does demand acute concentration as I have just mentioned. You may have to wait around for a length of time too and yet be ready to go into your scene, to ‘be on’ as they say. The phrase comes from the Theatre and being ‘on’ stage, adapted to being ‘on’ camera. I had no waiting around at all.
Also, while you are performing, the crew is all around you and you have to forget they are there. It was quite cramped on the landing where we were filming. As well as Alex, the director, there were the cameraman, the sound man with a microphone, the lighting man and two ladies from Southwark Council in close proximity. It made me realise how more difficult it must be for an actor working on a major film in a large studio (or on location, even, as I was) with an army of technicians around them, and yet be in role, focused, ‘on’. I thought this while I was standing there waiting for the crew to change positions from filming Glen to filming myself.
I was reminded of this again a few weeks later when I attended a special screening of the new film ‘Maestro’ which is about the American classical conductor, composer, pianist and educator, Leonard Bernstein, who died in 1991. He is perhaps best remembered for composing the score for the musical ‘West Side Story’.
The screening took place in the IMAX cinema near Waterloo station in London and it was a special event because it was being introduced by the film’s stars Bradley Cooper

(who plays Bernstein and also directs the film) and Carey Mulligan (who plays his wife, Felicia). The film charts their marriage through the years with the conductor/composer’s phenomenal, high octane career as a backdrop. It is a remarkable film and both actors are remarkable in it, especially Bradley Cooper who not only gives a highly detailed performance as Bernstein (he is Lennie to the life!) but also directs the film. Mr Cooper had obviously done his research: but then there is so much archive footage of Leonard Bernstein as he was a media personality for most of his career, giving interviews, making his own TV programmes and documentaries, and there is endless footage of him in rehearsal and in concert too. Both actors also consulted Bernstein’s three children, to whom the film in dedicated.
There was nothing of the ‘star’ about Mr Cooper and Miss Mulligan, when they were interviewed before the screening. They were both very natural and down to earth, indeed, Mr Copper came across as being quite humble. It was such a contrast seeing them in person immediately before seeing the film, where they were towering over us on the huge IMAX screen. I remember Mr Cooper commenting on this himself, wondering what this intimate portrait of a marriage would look like on a larger than normal screen. His worries were unfounded: the intimacy seemed even more evident as if we were in the room with them. And the music on the IMAX sound system was something else! Watching the film reminded me of the big close-ups so prevalent in movies of the golden age of Hollywood, which we see so little of now in movies.
I do recommend the film: it is screened on the smaller screen on Netflix soon.
Well now that I have made my professional film debut I wonder where it will lead me? Will I end up emblazoned on a big IMAX screen? I doubt it. ‘Eastenders’? No thank you. However I would like to do some more filming in a modest way. It was a very relaxing and enjoyable experience and it enervated me, because I was acting again.
Yes it would be lovely to act again. Too late for panto now! And it’s too late to get a job playing Santa in his grotto too! Let’s see what the New Year brings.
Meanwhile, dear reader, wishing you a very Happy Christmas and here’s to peace on earth in the New Year. We need peace.
Ave atque Vale Neilus Aurelius
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MEDITATION 85

A Happy New Year to you.

We always wish each other a Happy New Year imagining or rather hoping that the whole year will be bright and cheerful. I sincerely hope it is for you. January is never bright and cheerful unless you live in the Southern Hemisphere. Well it might be if there is January snow and winter sunshine here!

However, currently the weather is dark, dreary and rain abounds. My candle provides a welcome echo of Christmas cheer as I gaze at it. A sleigh comes into my mind, hurtling through the snow; a huge Christmas tree with lots of brightly wrapped gifts at its feet; children playing excitedly in a warmly lit parlour on Christmas Eve; and a glittering Palace with shimmering walls of sugar.

You might be thinking I am recalling scenes from Christmas cards I have received, or perhaps looking at them for one last time before discarding them. Actually I am remembering the Royal Ballet’s production of ‘The Nutcracker’ which I saw just before Christmas at the Royal Opera House with my friend Anna and her two daughters.

It was a really beautiful production and delightfully old fashioned in its staging, with scenery flying in and out and a magical transformation scene (as the Christmas tree and gifts suddenly grow larger and larger) all timed immaculately to Tchaikovsky’s score. My two little companions had already seen the musical ‘Frozen’, which obviously has a high tech staging but they were just as entranced by ‘The Nutcracker’ and told me so! The ballet was as high-tech, of course, but in an old fashioned way. I suppose I can best describe it as the illustrations from a fairy tale book brought to life.

Though the ballet is based on a novella by the German Gothic fantasy writer E.T.A. Hoffman (1776 -1822), the production, set in the early 1800’s, has a decidedly Russian ambiance. The ambiance is not only provided by Tchaikovsky’s music but also by the set and costume designs: the snow fairies are presented as Christmas tree Angels in voluminous dresses like Russian dolls for example.

So the production, along with music and the ballet itself (which originated in St Petersburg in 1892) could be viewed as a celebration of Russian culture. This is therefore quite timely as our Western view of Russia at the moment is considerably negative because of the invasion of Ukraine. It is a reminder that there is more to Russia than Mr Putin’s bellicose oppressive regime.

I was actually reminded of the war in Ukraine by a scene in Act 1 where the parlour is invaded by the Mouse King and his army of mice. They are defeated by the now life size Nutcracker Prince and his own forces of dolls. Ukraine is never very far from our thoughts at present.

Tchaikovsky’s music is of course one of Russia’s main cultural exports to the world. I wonder how Mr Putin and his government square their anti-gay agenda with celebrating and promoting one of their greatest composers and cultural assets, who was himself homosexual (and who suffered a life of turmoil because of it).

Music is of course international, indeed universal, and to some extent above the changing tides of political events. Tchaikovsky’s music (and the great Russian ballets) have kept their international reputation and have remained admired and loved the world over despite the 1917 Russian revolution and the Soviet empire which followed it, two world wars, and the Soviet Empire’s disintegration in the 1990’s. They will maintain their preeminence long after Mr Putin has gone, I am sure.

Although high culture is in a sense above the ebb and flow of political events, even if certain works of art are an expression of or reaction to political events, yet culture can be appropriated by governments for their own ends, especially propaganda. Quite recently there has been much discussion about the harmful effects of cancel culture. We must also be wary of those who contort culture for their own ends.

Apparently, the Russian government have placed scenes from the Russian film version of Tolstoy’s epic novel ‘War and Peace’ on YouTube as flag waving propaganda. Needless to say the scenes they have chosen are the battle scenes. This truly remarkable film is one of the best adaptations of a novel that I have ever seen. The director, Sergei Bondarchuk, not only directed the film, but also adapted Tolstoy’s epic novel himself and played Pierre, one of the central characters. The filming took nearly six years to complete and it won the 1968 Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. As regards using the cinema form to tell as story it is on a par with Orson Welles’ ‘Citizen Kane’, in my opinion. Moreover it is one of my favourite films and has stayed with me since I first saw it in two parts (dubbed into American accents) at the Odeon in Middlesbrough when I was a callow sixth former. Dear me, this film deserves a meditation to itself!

The film had the backing of the Soviet regime of the time especially as there had been an American version (1956) which was unsatisfactory. So Bondarchuk had the use of the Red Army in the battle scenes (which are still stunning and superior to CGI). The novel deals with Russia’s attempt to defeat Napoleon, along with Austrian forces in 1805 and later Napoleon’s invasion of Russia itself in 1812 and how it affects the three main families of characters. It describes in detail Russia’s defeat at the Battle of Borodino which led to the burning of Moscow as Napoleon advanced.

As with the novel, the film shows the importance of the individual soldiers of whatever rank working together against the enemy. Being a Soviet film this is emphasised in the battle scenes, although this angle is there in the novel. These are the scenes which are appearing on YouTube no doubt.

However, this Russian propaganda exercise is highly ironic as the scenes depict the soldiers fighting against an invasion by Napoleon’s forces. Russian forces are the invaders against Ukraine after all.

Also in his novel Tolstoy writes at length about the futility of war and questions why nations have to attack each other instead of living in peace. He argues that if every soldier laid down his arms against the commands from his superiors there would be no battle. As a young man he was an officer himself in the Crimean War. This led to his ideas on Pacifism ultimately. Some of Tolstoy’s philosophical comments are included in the film via a narrator. In the novel, he comments on the personality of Napoleon at length. It is not a flattering portrait as might be imagined. He sees all the destruction Napoleon causes to achieve and maintain his ‘greatness’ and reflects that:

‘There is no greatness where there is no simplicity, goodness and truth.’

Something Mr Putin would do well to reflect upon.

Ave atque Vale – until the next blog.

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Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius

MEDITATION 84

As I sit here beside my candle, while the day dissolves into an early winter twilight, I am thinking about ivy. This is not connected with the traditional Christmas Carol ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ as you may be thinking. Perhaps I should be thinking about fir, pine or spruce at this time or about laurel, in honour of dear Marcus Aurelius, who is the inspiration for these meditations. Emperors were after all crowned with laurel leaves.

Actually I am thinking about The Ivy, the famous show business restaurant in West Street in the heart of London’s West End. A recent conversation has brought back memories of my occasional, indeed rare visits there. Of course I have always enjoyed my visits there with friends because of the theatrical ambiance. So many theatre stars have dined there since it first opened its doors in 1917. Photos of some of them adorn the walls. There is still also the possibility of spotting a celebrity or two, which adds a frisson to the occasion. It is also a very comfortable restaurant as there aren’t too many tables. The restaurant has a distinctive Art Deco decor including dark green leather seats (to represent ivy) and Art Deco stained glass panelling and the original cocktail bar.

I haven’t been there for quite a long time so I was quite excited when a friend said he would try to book a table as a late birthday and thank you gift combined. Unfortunately the restaurant was booked out: well restaurants are always busy between Christmas and New Year. So we have settled for one of The Ivy’s branches in Covent Garden. For quite recently The Ivy has become a chain or rather its branches have spread, as real ivy does. Not only are there several branches in London and its environs but now across the country in major towns. Sadly though you can replicate the menu, you can’t replicate the atmosphere of the original. Dear me, I am sounding ungrateful and snobbish perhaps. I don’t intend to be. I am sure my friend and I will have a wonderful evening and it is very kind of him. It’s just that there are occasions when I become rather ‘grand’. Sometimes it makes me sound unintentionally churlish.

This was the case on a visit to the York branch a few summers ago. I remember the restaurant was packed as it was a Friday evening. The York branch is in a square, St Helen’s Square, and there were some tables outside the restaurant on the pavement for drinks if I remember rightly. My friends and I dined at a corner table with a window looking out onto the square. I must admit it was genuinely rather cramped inside as there were too many tables, unlike the original Ivy. I mentioned this and became rather grand again, commenting that it’s not like the original or words to that effect. It became a kind of joke.

Looking out of the window I noticed that a mobile soup kitchen for the homeless was setting up in the square. Several people were beginning to queue up, waiting for it to open. I have a feeling that the soup van was a fixture in the square before The Ivy was established there . Those drinking at tables outside were virtually an arm’s length away from those queueing up for food. While I was eating, my eyes kept returning to the window and the mobile soup kitchen. Needless to say, the view quietened me down. From playing grand I felt quite small.

My view out of the window was poignantly incongruous. Here were we in the restaurant, eating and carousing along with all the other diners there, effectively feasting, while others outside were patiently waiting for food. The contrasting scene was worthy of Dickens. I think I said something to that effect to my friends. A moment from a movie flashed through my mind. It was a scene from David Lean’s marvellous version of ‘Oliver Twist’: a scene early in the film in the Workhouse where Oliver is born. The child paupers are huddled together at a window, their noses enviously squashed against the window panes. For the window looks down on the managers of the Workhouse feasting from a table laden with a magnificent banquet of food.

When we are enjoying our festive celebrations or our Christmas meal, although it is highly unlikely that we will be able to see a mobile soup kitchen through the window or the envious faces of ragged urchins with their noses up against the window pane as in some Dickensian scene, perhaps we should spare a thought or, even better a penny or pound or two for those less fortunate than ourselves, of which there are likely to be many more than usual this Christmas.

We should also remember that at the heart of our frenetic festivities is the stillness of the Christmas story, at the centre of which are parents with a new born child who are homeless for a while and because of a life-threatening political situation, become migrants from their own country.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas!

Ave atque Vale – until the next blog.

If you are enjoying my blog, and have not already done so, please sign up below to receive notification of each new blog by e mail. Just add your e mail to ‘Follow’ as it pops up.

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Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius

PS: While I have been blogging, Henry Riley, who posts these Meditations for me, has been jogging! He is in training for the London Marathon on Sunday April 23 (Shakespeare’s birthday) . He is 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…

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

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

MEDITATION 69

As I sit here by my candle beginning this meditation, I am reminding myself of when and where Marcus Aurelius wrote his own ‘Meditations.’ At night of course, on his military campaigns in his tent. He may have written them with a candle by his side, as I am now, but more probably with oil lamps. I may have mentioned this before.

I do not think I could find the peace of mind to write in a tent, although I imagine Marcus’ tent would have been very spacious, more like a marquee. Perhaps I could write in a marquee, as long as I had my habitual comforts around me and providing the weather outside wasn’t too wild and stormy. The winds across the plains of Hungary (or Pannonia as he would have know it) would be most severe and biting, I imagine.

The weather would not have bothered Marcus of course. He would have accepted all kinds of weather with stoic endurance. As he writes: ‘How easy it is to drive away or obliterate from one’s mind every impression which is troublesome or alien, and then to be in perfect calm.’ (Book 5).

He may have found this easy, having presumably developed the ability to blot out distractions form his mind and totally ‘zone in’ (as we would say) on the task in hand. I do not find that easy and I am sure most other people wouldn’t either. Perfect calm is also difficult to achieve and comes to us only momentarily, like happiness, but when it does it is blissful because unexpected.

However, Marcus’ maxim is a good one to adopt and strive for, especially in these days of the pandemic. Although, we must remind ourselves that Marcus wasn’t visited by ‘troublesome or alien thoughts’ from an I phone! Perhaps he was being ironic or sarcastic against himself -he occasionally mentions his quick-temper for instance!

It is possible that he may also have written his philosophical notes in various palaces on his campaigns. I would definitely have no objections to writing in a palace! Childhood memories of those Roman epic movies swarm into my mind again! I would be sitting on a red velvet cushion on a pristine white marble chair scribing away on an equally white pristine table, with elegant drapes fluttering in the delicate (summer!) breeze behind me. And a large silver goblet brimming with deep red wine near to hand of course!

Though I have a deep affection for Hungary (and hope to return there in April – if the fates allow) I could not see myself seated in a tent and trying to write while those severe biting winds swirl around outside! My theatrical campaigns were in the the warmth of Budapest theatres, after all, and not the windswept Buda Hills of antiquity! The winter winds here are now rather biting but at least I writing in the warmth of my little house.

In my front garden there is a small rose bush. It was a birthday present from my sister Maria and her husband several years ago. The rose is called a ‘Darcy Bussell’, named after the ballet star and, yes, the blooms do dance in the wind sometimes. They are unable to twirl and pirouette on their stems however! The flowers are rather small and red and they fade into to a deep purple before they expire. Because of the mild Autumn weather buds have still appeared until recently so it was not possible to prune the rose bush in October.

The other day I noticed that one of the buds had begun to flower. It was a darker red than usual but nevertheless its petals were emerging. I cut it from its stem and put it into a small vase indoors where it has since flowered further. The petals are not fully open as they would be in summer but they have opened a little further now and there a scent, if a little feint.

Maybe like the rose, we are longing to open out fully but at the moment, because the virus is still with us and a new variant has appeared and perhaps another lockdown is imminent, we are unable to. But like the rose, despite the harshness of this winter, we are still here and flowering as best we can.

And despite everything, in the darkness of winter there is still the warmth and glorious light of Christmas coming too.

As I walked out of my front door this morning I noticed that another two roses are blooming in the bitter cold. May we bloom like them, in the warmth of Christmas joy.

Wishing you a Happy Christmas, dear reader.

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

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Neilus Aurelius

Meditation 62

As I sit here and begin to write beside my candle, I am not thinking about Marcus Aurelius, the inspiration for this blog. Instead, my thoughts have drifted towards another Roman emperor.

I have recently visited the city of York and in the square in front of the cathedral there, York Minster, is a bronze statue of the Emperor Constantine. He sits on a throne looking appropriately powerful and commanding. His gaze seems to go beyond the square to take in the centuries since he reigned (306-337 CE). Perhaps this was intended by the sculptor, Philip Jackson, as the statue was officially unveiled in 1998. It was a millennium project I suppose, suggesting that Constantine transcends the millennia, (as does Marcus, not least, I hope, in my humble blog!).

There is a small marble bust of Constantine dating from Roman times in nearby Stonegate, an altogether more modest image but with that commanding stare nevertheless. When I was in Rome, I saw the fragments of a colossal statue of him (including a very large head with a more mellow gaze and and a hand pointing upwards) in the entrance to the Capitoline museum. It must have been a massive edifice and would have dwarfed all around it. Should my school decide to place a statue in my honour outside my dear Drama studio, I would be quite happy with a small marble bust. In reality, I am happy with nothing at all (just as well, you may say!) as you only have to stand in the centre of the studio and look around you to see my monument!

It may seem strange but Constantine was actually crowned Emperor in York which was then a Roman settlement called Eboracum. There is a large stone column from that time quite near to the statue on the small square. Constantine had served in the army under his father Constantius since 305 (having fled from the reigning Caesar, Galerius, to serve the army in Western Europe). When his father died he was declared emperor by the army. It is appropriate that the statue is situated in front of the Minster as Constantine was reputedly crowned near that spot, and also because eventually he became the first Christian emperor.

York is a city steeped in history: it not only has a Roman past, but also was a Viking settlement and was a thriving medieval town around the Minster. There are also some elegant 18th and 19th century buildings and some beautiful city gardens and parks. I very much enjoyed staying with friends in York and having a little city break – my first break since last autumn and my first major venture out of the lockdown stockade. It was heartening to see the streets busy, not with international tourists of course, but with visitors from the UK. The city seemed to be going about its business in a relaxed way, unlike my visits to London last summer where the streets were virtually empty and a tense atmosphere pervaded the metropolis. There was a gentleness about the place which I hope won’t be swept away when lockdown ends (possibly) in a few weeks. At the moment in this hopefully last stage of lockdown, we seem to be in a gentle and quite relaxed phase. I wish this could be the so called ‘new normal’ and that we do not return to a frenetic or even frantic lifestyle once lockdown ends. I hope we do not forget what we have learnt from lockdown.

My first reason for travelling up North was to be with my sisters and family in Leeds. I hadn’t seen them since last August and was so very pleased to be with them, especially as we were unable to spend Christmas together. So we had Christmas in June instead! I travelled on the train with my Christmas gifts for them, like a Santa who had lost his way on Christmas Eve and had spent six months trying to find his way home! We exchanged gifts and had a turkey dinner and hats, crackers and games and it was a wonderful festive occasion especially as we hadn’t seen each other for so long.

It has been wonderful that families have been able to get together at last over the last few months. I imagine not a few have also re-celebrated Christmas, with all the family together at last. At the end of Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’, the miser Ebenezer Scrooge is a changed man and the narrator comments that ‘it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well’ and hopes that ‘may the same be said of us and all of us.’ Well my family and I did our best last month. They had already been together last December 25 and celebrated without my being with them but, nevertheless, the spirit of Christmas was present among us on June 24!

On that trip to Leeds and York, I came to realise that I never travel light. I always have too much stuff with me. I suppose I had a good excuse this time as I was carrying presents for seven people as well as clothes for a five day stay up North. Also I must confess to being quite nervous about travelling even though I have made the journey so many times before. I think the pandemic may have made us all nervous at times about the most ordinary things (especially travel). I spent the day before I travelled packing and repacking and deciding what to wear (as the weather is so changeable at present) and what else to take with me: books, I Pad, headphones for my music etc. My bag was heavy enough without my personal accessories.

Of course I was forgetting that I would be spending most of my time in the company of my family and my friends. I would have little time to read or play music. They weren’t important. My bag wasn’t much lighter either once I had emptied out the gifts in Leeds and gave them to my family as I received gifts too from them to take home with me. As I trundled along station platforms with my large tunnel back at my side and my backpack

on my shoulders and heaved myself onto trains for my journeys from London to Leeds then from Leeds to York and later back home again from York, I slowly began to realise that I was literally weighed down with possessions. I came to the conclusion that I need to live lighter let alone travel lighter.

I had also forgotten one of the lessons I had learnt from the lockdown last year: that people are more important than possessions. And more especially from our days of isolation, that the company of others is very precious.

Yes, I hope we do not forget what we have learnt from lockdown.

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

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Neilus Aurelius

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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Many thanks

MEDITATION 51 (CHRISTMAS SPECIAL)

I am sitting here beside my flickering candle contemplating a very different Christmas from last year. We are in another lockdown in all but name, which has been announced as suddenly as the first one in March. Therefore Christmas is likely to be a quiet and subdued holiday and a muted festival. Like many other normal events in the last months it will seem rather strange, no doubt, and unusual.

Traditionally it is a time for families and friends to get together, as we well know. Many people make great efforts to travel to be with their loved ones. But with new travel restrictions and restrictions on how many people can meet in one place, this is not really possible this year. Some will be spending Christmas alone for the first time. Christmas is the time of good cheer but this year that cheer will inevitably be tinged with sadness, especially for those who have lost loved ones to the pandemic.

Yesterday afternoon, I was wrapping gifts for my family, gifts that they will not be received tomorrow as I am now not able to travel to Leeds for our own family Christmas celebration. But rather than leaving the wrapping-up operation until whenever I will be able to travel to see them, I thought I would cheer myself up by doing it now while watching a Christmas old movie. It did cheer me up or rather I felt a twinge of real Christmas cheer in my veins.

The movie was a very old one -you know how I love my old movies – the 1933 version of ‘Little Women’ based on the 1868 novel by Louisa M. Alcott. The opening scenes are set at Christmas in New England and several winter scenes follow with deep snow covering pine and spruce trees, paths and gates and snowmen carefully crafted. It is a cosy opening, like a Christmas card and ideal Yuletide viewing.

But the dramatic situation is not so cosy or comfortable underneath. For we are in the midst of the American Civil War and the March family (who are the central characters), though dwelling in a large rambling house,are living in genteel but straightened circumstances. The mother (Marmee) and four daughters (Jo, Beth, Amy and Meg) are also coping with the absence of Mr March, who is away fighting in the war.

There have been three later film versions (including one this year) and all in colour of course. But this venerable black and white version, perhaps because it isn’t in lush colour, somehow captures the shabby atmosphere of the house and the family’s near genteel poverty the best. Led by Katherine Hepburn as the tomboy and would-be writer Jo (who gives one of her best and most natural performances in a long career), the actresses playing the family are a real ensemble and really convey their love for each other and their enjoyment of each other’s company.

From the opening moments, there is a sense of money being short. They are almost improvising Christmas, giving each other little gifts which mean so much because each one has meant a sacrifice of some kind or other for each of them. They are making an effort as best they can and are able to be charitable too, sharing their Christmas breakfast with a poor family down the road and spending Christmas morning with them.

I remember this scene from when I was a child in junior school. Our teacher read it to us just before theChristmas break during story time at the end of the day. I remember the snug warm classroom, as daylight was dimming through the windows. I giggled at the wrong moment and she said to me, ‘Neil you are like a champagne cork popping.’ I had no idea what she meant as I didn’t know what champagne was, of course.Needless to say, I have rectified my ignorance on numerous occasions since! Starting with hunting in bags of wine gums, when still a child, for the champagne ones!

The Marches remind me of the Cratchit family in Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ and Alcott, like Dickens, advocates charity to others, especially at Christmas time. No doubt she was influenced by his novel, which was published 25 years earlier.

The Cratchits are a larger family than the Marches and are much poorer. But, like the Marches, there is a real sense of them appreciating each other and everything about Christmas Day and the Christmas meal. It would be their most substantial meal of the year and Dickens is at pains to point out that they ate every scrap of the goose. A goose would be a low income family’s Christmas bird in the 1840’s. Turkeys were for more prosperous families and beef only for the wealthy. It is interesting that, after his change of heart, Scrooge buys the largest turkey for the Cratchits to replace their goose on the Christmas table.

This year, because of the unusual situation we are living through, we are also improvising Christmas to some extent, like the Marches. But the basics of the celebration are still there even if we may not be able to see everyone as usual in person and will be using zoom or Skype or whatever platform to share their company instead. In that sense it will be a digital Christmas this year!

There hasn’t been the opportunity for socialising, parties, and eating out. Or seeing a Christmas show or going to the movies. It is a quiet and subdued Christmas this year, as I said at the beginning of this meditation. It is also an opportunity for us, like the Marches and the Cratchits to appreciate each other, to enjoy each others’ company, whether real or digital, and every moment of the Christmas celebration and everything about it. For example, I have never appreciated receiving Christmas cards so much as this year.

We must remember too that the event at the centre of our celebration, the birth of Christ, was itself a quiet and subdued affair. ‘How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given’ says the Carol ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’

With the new strain of the virus and numbers of those afflicted increasing, we are once again reminded of how fragile and vulnerable human life is, as fragile and vulnerable as the babe of Bethlehem. Yet that babe is our hope and our light. And the candles we light this Christmas are a symbol of light and of hope for a better New Year.

As Tiny Tim says: ‘Merry Christmas and God Bless Us Everyone!’

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

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Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius

Meditation 49

As I sit here gazing at my candle I am aware that, as I write, the night is chill outside. Winter approaches and this is the first night of another full lockdown. All the more reason to gaze at the magnets on my fridge door and to hearken back to memories of warmer and sunnier climes and carefree times.

There are two new magnets in my collection for, though I was not able to go to Puglia with my friend Simon, we did have three days in Chichester and the surrounding Sussex countryside a week or so ago. Chichester is a cathedral town and the Cathedral itself and the gardens are quite stunning. Unfortunately the cathedral gift shop was closed when we were there. As I wandered around the town, it was difficult to find a shop that sold fridge magnets. It was equally difficult to find a shop that sold picture postcards. I guess they go together, being souvenir merchandise. Eventually, having gone a complete circle round the town one morning and ending up almost back to where we were staying, we discovered a cosy little gift shop, crammed with all sorts of gifts including magnets and quite a large selection of postcards.

Picture postcards are fast going out of fashion. Who these days would send a postcard when on holiday or on a visit, if they can instantly send a photo with a brief message from their phone instead? A photo taken on a mobile phone is more personal too. It is your own view, selected and taken by yourself and not by a photographer, probably years before (as if you look closely at some picture postcards, the photo is definitely not up to date). You can be in the picture too if you wish. You don’t even need someone else to take the picture for you as you can take a ‘selfie’. Plus it is less arduous and time consuming than sitting down and writing then addressing a card, even if you write the briefest of messages. Then, of course, there is the added chore of posting it! You are also able to send a message and text on your mobile phone to lots of people at once, of course, rather than writing lots of postcards!

And yet everyone likes to receive a card. I still enjoy sending them and receiving them. Some of my friends aren’t on social media and some don’t have an up to date phone so they appreciate getting a card, especially if they live alone. I used to have a notice board in my kitchen (before I began my fridge magnet collection!) and would pin postcards sent by friends on it. In those days, over the summer, it would soon fill up with a variety of views and reminded me of my circle of friends and family who sent them.

Perhaps the age of the picture postcard is fast ebbing away. It is an age that has lasted since the 1840’s (with the institution of the first ever postal service here in the UK – the ‘penny post’). Originally the postcards had reproductions of artists’ drawings of picturesque scenes and later on photographs of views were cheaply reproduced too (and cartoons of saucy seaside humour!). Hotels issued free postcards of their premises in their reception areas (and still do) as an advertising ploy.

They have become a document of social history of the last 150 years or more and an indication of how people spent their holidays over the decades, including the well to do and famous. So, they have been often quoted and featured as illustrations in biographies of famous personalities too. Sometimes both sides of the card are reprinted and the reader can have a tantalising view of the famous person’s handwriting (often far clearer than my own!).

Sending a card was a social tradition: sending one to relatives, friends and acquaintances to show them where you were staying on holiday with a brief description even if only ‘Having a a good time. Wish you were here.’

There were (and maybe there still are) plain postcards with no picture at all. There was room for the address on the front and a blank space for a short message on the reverse. I left a stamped and addressed postcard at my Oxford college for my degree results, I remember. But that was many years ago!

The postcard and it’s short message (with or without a picture) has been replaced by email or more accurately, by texting. On social media now, you can include not only a photo with your brief message, but even a short video. The advantage of texting in all its forms is that it is immediate and doesn’t depend on postal delivery. Though it’s always fun to receive a text from a friend on holiday, I still think there is something special about receiving a card, especially as so little private correspondence is sent by mail now. Also writing a postcard can involve a little reflection on the part of the sender whereas texting and twittering often involves no reflection or even thought at all! Witness the twitterings of the outgoing President of the U.S.A.!

On our little holiday we spent an afternoon in the village of Bosham which is on the estuary that goes into the English Channel. It is about 3 miles out of Chichester and is a peninsula which goes into what is called Chichester Harbour, a natural harbour of small villages and marinas. Bosham has a little arts centre with, yes, another cosy little shop where I purchased some more postcards and another magnet!

On arriving, Bosham has the look of a village inland with its thatched cottages, small lanes, picturesque pub and parish church and graveyard. There is a small river and a lock too.There is no seaside atmosphere and nothing particularly nautical about it either, until you arrive at a small marina, Bosham Quay, which is adjacent to the church and churchyard. Quite a few streets eventually lead to the water as the villages is skirted by the estuary. We very quickly found this out.

After leaving the car in the car park we walked down towards the water and decided to walk along the shore around the natural harbour to explore the other side. Then we noticed a cafe at the end of the road up some steps. So we decide to have a snack lunch there first, where they served the most filling homemade pasties ever.

It was when we left the cafe that we realised why it was up some steps as where we had been previously standing and admiring the view, was now completely under water. The tide was is and beginning to make its slow inexorable way up the street. If we had gone for our walk first, we would probably have found ourselves stranded on the other side. However the water didn’t impede our walk to the church and quay, admiring the quaint little cottages on the way and noticing that their little pretty front doors had not so pretty modern flood barriers.

Bosham was originally a Roman settlement, as was Chichester itself of course. It is now thought that the remains of Harold Godwinson, the last Saxon King of England, were buried in the parish church, after he was defeated by William the Conqueror at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

Another king associated with Bosham is the Danish King Canute, who was King of Denmark, Norway and England with his own North Sea empire before his demise in 1035. Legend has it that it was here, at Bosham, that he commanded the waves to go back on his orders. We were unable to do so, of course! Canute was reputed to have magical powers, but is unclear from the legend, whether his attempt to force the waves back was an act of arrogant self delusion or whether he did it to rebuke his flattering courtiers. In other words, was his failure a reality check for his courtiers or himself?

I am once again reminded of the present incumbent of the Presidency of the United States who thinks he can push back the waves of votes he didn’t receive. But again, we are unsure whether this is his own act of self delusion or of his flattering staff. Though I have my suspicions.

We all need a reality check at times and this pandemic has been a global one, reminding us of our vulnerability and of the fragility of life. A reality check is only effective if we accept it, hard as it may be, and act upon it (as most of us have). There is now a glimmer of hope with news of a vaccine, which is wonderful news. The best Christmas present we could ask for at the moment. Here’s hoping it is effective.

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,

Neilus Aurelius

As I sit here by my solitary candle I am looking at the corner opposite me in my lounge. It is now empty. Today I took down the Christmas decorations and so the tree in the opposite corner is no longer there. My candle seems very solitary indeed now that the lights on the tree are packed away upstairs. Now that the garlands and cards are gone from my bookshelves too, the room seems empty indeed and cold as if a chill winter breeze has crept in though the window or under the door.

I am reminded once again of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’, when the Spirit of Christmas Future returns Scrooge to the Cratchits’ parlour and the corner where Tiny Tim used to sit is sadly empty. Of course, Scrooge changes heart when he wakes up in the present on Christmas morning. He helps Tiny Tim as much as he can and presumably Tim recovers from his illness and lives so the corner will not be empty at all. And of course I will be putting up the decorations and tree once again in December and, like Tiny Tim’s corner, my lounge corner will not be empty once more either. And it will once again glow with the lights on the tree.

At the end of ‘A Christmas Carol’ we are told that ‘it was always said of Mr Scrooge that he knew how to keep Christmas well’. We are also reminded: ‘May that be truly said of all of us.’ What does this mean? Scrooge’s sudden change of heart, indeed the opening of his heart in generosity to others, including those less fortunate than himself, did not end with that first Christmas season when he became truly alive. The spirit of Christmas remained alive in him throughout the year. Moreover, his heart had been opened for the rest of his days.

You may remember the phrase ‘A dog isn’t just for Christmas’, warning people not to buy a puppy for Christmas without being aware of the responsibilities of looking after it afterwards. Well perhaps Dickens is saying ‘Christmas isn’t just for Christmas’. We should keep the generous spirit of Christmas alight in our hearts even though the Christmas lights have been extinguished in our home. Just as, if we buy or receive a dog or puppy at Christmas, we have the responsibility to look after it, so we also have the responsibility to be generous and kind to others, especially those less fortunate than ourselves, all the year round. If we are looking for a New Year’s resolution perhaps this should be it. Or perhaps we should be thinking more in terms of a New Year’s attitude.

A few days ago, I mentioned to a friend that my lounge looked gloomy now that the decorations had been taken down and packed away. He suggested that we should put up different decorations for each month of the year, in line with the seasons I suppose. I do know that in Hungary (and I imagine other parts of Eastern Europe) people put up an Easter tree in their homes. This is very often a large bunch of bare branches decorated with ribbons and imitation eggs made from wood or papier-mache. The eggs are painted with traditional designs and are very colourful. I have a few on my Christmas tree! When I bought them in Budapest several years ago, I thought they were Christmas decorations!

My Christmas lights may be put away now but my solitary candle is still burning brightly. Perhaps in the year ahead, we should burn a candle to remind ourselves of the spirit of Christmas in season and out of season and to remind ourselves to live by that spirit. And

to encourage us, in the dark and uncertain opening days of this New Year and new decade.

Happy New Year.

Ave atque vale – Hail and Farewell! Till the next blog.

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A selection of previous meditations is also available in audio form as ‘Meditations of Neiulus Aurelius’ ASMR on YouTube. I would also value any feedback on nzolad53@gmail.com or my Facebook page or Twitter.

Many thanks

Neilus Aurelius