And when human hearts are breaking
under sorrow’s iron rod,
then they find that selfsame aching
deep within the heart of God (Timothy Rees, ‘God is Love’ (1922)).
I’m maintaining a seven-day, 6.00 am rise policy. This way, my body and mind will settle to a rhythm or cycle. The run to Llanbadarn Fawr and back passed almost effortlessly, and I could focus my mind, in thought and prayer, on the issues of the day. It was an enriching half hour. Responsibility for public intercessions at Holy Trinity Church fell to me, today. The congregation was in mourning, following the sudden and tragic death of one of our members a week ago. To my mind, church life cannot be ‘business as usual’ after an event like this. We needed to adapt, be flexible, and talk about the elephant in the room. One has to know the heart of the people and speak to them from the heart. My sentiments, I was told, had hit the mark. Something that should have been said, finally found a voice.
It was my turn to man the tea and coffee stall after the service. I have my uses:
After lunch, I made an aborted attempt to change the failed lights in the bathroom ceiling. They’ve been coming to the end of their life like ‘Ten Little Indians’. One went ‘phut!’ last week, and then there were three. I need the advice from a trusty electrician and, also, to come to terms with my creeping greyness. (The bathroom light is unforgiving.) Grey hair can distinguish a person. But it makes me look only old. (‘”All is vanity”, John!’):
A healing walk down Plas Grug Avenue. It’s a place I often go to when seeking solace. Why do some scenes draw my attention? Not for formal reasons alone, I’d vouch? I was reminded of Magritte’s Empire of Light (1950). Art History is everywhere, if you’ve the eyes to see it. Some scenes serve as a metaphor for either a state of mind, or a truth one is searching for within, or a answer to a question that’s not possible to articulate, even to oneself. Their meaning is not interpretable in a straightforward sense. They serve, rather, to intimate the possibility of, variously, a hope, resolution, or reconciliation to come. The light shines in the daylight, and the daylight has not overcome it:
This is Diary entry number 902. I had intended to cease publishing in this form at the thousanth. The plan may be repented of.
One constant bond;
two hearts apart.
Loss and longing,