Reblog Peace

I am impressed by two poems currently.  One, an ancient prayer and a hymn, a Celtic Blessing that was played at my mother’s funeral, sung by Aled Jones to the tune by Rutter. The prayer, the music and the occasion deeply imprinted until time slowly erodes the memory to the bare bones.   The other, probably also a song,  new year wishes by Jacques Brel.

Both are love songs. Unconventional, in a way, but surely, to wish anyone the deep peace of the universe with or without the inclusion of Christ is an act of love. So too the fervent wish for at least one bounteous dream to come true.

Deep peace of the running wave to you.

Deep peace of the flowing air to you.

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.

Deep peace of the shining stars to you.

Deep peace of the gentle night to you.

Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.

Deep peace of Christ,

of Christ the light of the world to you.

Deep peace of Christ to you.

New Year wishes by Jacques Brel

I wish you dreams with no end and the furious desire to realise some of them. I wish you to love what should be loved and forget what you need to forget. I wish you passion, I wish you silence, I wish you to hear birds singing and children laughing when you wake up. I wish that you respect other people’s differences because the merits and value of each person are worth discovering. I wish that you resist getting stuck, that you resist being indifferent and that you resist the negativity and righteousness of our time. Finally, I wish that you never renounce discovery, adventure, life, love because life is a magnificent adventure and no reasonable person should renounce it without a courageous battle. I especially wish you to be yourself, to be proud of who you are and happy because happiness is our true destiny.

Epiphanies

An angel poking the three kings, don’t you just love this concept? To say nothing of the three Kings as bedfellows. Perhaps travelling together meant they had to rough it a bit. I wish an angel would poke the conscience of Theresa May and her bed fellows and open their eyes. ‘Oy you, leave it out!’

the beauty of peace

image

This is the view from my window this New Year  in beautiful Onich near Fort William and I am mindful that the beauty of peace is not afforded to all.

re blogging Michael Rosen’s post.

A reminder from Wilfred Owen about the politics of war
TO BE READ TO YOURSELF OR TO YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY, WHEN YOU CAN’T GET TO THE RADIO OR TV IN TIME TO TURN OFF CAMERON OR FALLON BABBLING AWAY
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
[The Latin phrase was used at times of war in the 19th and early 20th centuries. It means roughly “It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country.”]

Peace in Asturias

The peace of a night to ourselves in a hotel with a swimming pool pervaded the whole of  today’s walk.  After ten hours on the Camino in 35 degrees of full sun, the huge lettering on the roof of the hotel looked like a mirage. Then you know that one step further would be a step too far.  The relief of a swim for aching muscles was not far short of miraclulous.

So we opted for a langourous pace today, removing boots at a beauty spot, Bufones de Arenillas, and picnicing for about an hour.  We have come along the coast to a rock cliff where thundering seas have made holes like geysers.  Nothing thunders today but an even mist covers everything.

We thought all our pilgrim friends would be well clear, but just before turning towards the coast again, in Buelna, we spotted a new albergue, just opened.  Outside was the metal cage with the orange canary, Richard.  I think he might have been sulking.  He was certainly very quiet.  Paquita had walked herself to a standstill and was staying put for a day.  I offered her the orange feather, but she was not amused.