A picture is worth a thousand words. Perth nestles on the west-facing coastline that defines the border of Western Australia and the Indian Ocean. Burns Beach is just one of many vantage points and a ten-minute drive from where we live. But then we can just open our front door and see a spekky sunset nearly any day.
With eerie premonition, Bloganuary’s final question is “What would you title the chapters of your autobiography?”
With Bloganuary’s first question about what I was hoping to achieve this year, I answered vaguely and ambiguously about improving my writing across several genres. Behind this, I have been wondering how to respond to a request to write my autobiography following almost fifty years in public ministry.
I am at the “gathering material” stage – collecting old photos, journals, diaries, and making notes of how they might come together. Sorting these out into a storyline that can be divided into chapters is an arduous task with some hard decisions to make. Will my story be told chronologically or thematically? The keepers of the archives will want a historical documentary. This would go against my grain. I’m a storyteller looking for particular expressions of universal themes. I look for the “why?” more than the “what?” So it will take more time than this evening to set out neat chapters of my story.
I will, however, disclose that the first chapter is to be called The Shoulders We Stand On. I don’t believe we can tell our story without telling the story of those who have influenced us – even before we have started our journey. Some of us are able to delve back many generations and discover uncanny twists and turns of fate that affect who we are today. Even if we can’t go back so far, there is a village that raised us. Some have named this the constellations of which we are a part. Constellations was going to be the alternative title for this opening chapter, but seemed a bit obscure, so I’ll use it for this blog post instead!
Bloganuary demands, “Describe your perfect birthday cake.”
Another trip around the sun? Another year’s journey just begun? Another cake to mark the occasion? – I find it hard to raise the passion!
Clown face cakes with lots of icing Adventure themes destroyed when slicing These were part of long ago youth To think of such now seems uncouth.
A perfect cake now seems quite moot Maybe I’d rather a bowl of fruit Besides, there’s the challenge of how to handle Blowing out such a multitude of candle!
Explain the pros and cons of procrastination. Such state seems to cause some consternation For those who are anxious to see some action And who want to see their work get some traction
Pros allow time for proper discernment Shifting some tasks to a sound deferment Preventing the job from decisions rash Thus changing the design into so much trash
Cons can spell opportunities lost How can one count the weight of the cost? To wait and wait for a circumstance perfect Can abandon to neglect a worthwhile project.
Procrastinate well then and know when to stop Otherwise there’ll be no reaping your crop!
Two days ago I was asked to write about how a song spoke to me. I am compelled to add another, that just came to my notice.
It is a perfect foil to the whipped-up debate that is marring and confusing preparation for the referendum on the long-awaited Voice to Parliament. What better statement and comeback than the clear tones and message of John Farnham’s “The Voice” in a local indigenous language.
This performance lifts me from the doldrums of laying low yesterday.
Bloganuary asks “What language do you wish you could speak?”
Having dabbled in Latin, Koine Greek, French and a smattering of Hebrew and Arabic – even a light touch of Shona, Ndebele and Hindi, (and some of our own local indigenous words – Nungyar.) I rather wish I was better acquainted with my own language (the one I’m communicating with now.)
This may sound odd as my life’s vocation is reliant on my language’s spoken and written word to explain, teach, exhort, comfort, persuade and, above all, listen to what is hidden behind words that others speak in the stories and dilemmas and experiences that they share.
Although I have received occasional accolades for what I have spoken, I always feel there is room for improvement – not because of some neurotic desire for perfection, but from an awareness that the task of communication is always ongoing and never quite finished – there is always something more.
And I am mindful of the words of St Paul when he says, “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.”
So I shall continue to be a learner of my own tongue, as well as others, to this end.
Bloganuary invites us to write about a song or poem that speaks to us:
I heard this on ABC Classic about six months ago. It has haunted me ever since – in a restful, peaceful manner. It is not an earworm like those that occasionally cling to my consciousness from my range of otherwise eclectic musical tastes. Rather it is meditative and takes me to places of deep rest. The meter and tone ranges seem to synchronise with the oscillations of my bone structure. I do not know what the song is about (apart from the title). The words are not in a language familiar to me so they do not distract. Rather I can sink into the music’s resonance, and sense its vibrations. It is neither secular nor sacred but takes me beyond and is therefore experienced by me as holy.
Is this question academic or particular? Foundational or extracurricular? This was an issue of struggle for me Until I discovered the answer “To Be!”
Full “being” creates a hospitable space For others to flourish and discover their pace I find inspiration from a living slain Lamb The one who’s amongst us as the loving “I Am!”
Old taunting voices have been gagged into silence No longer do they hold me in utter reliance “You’re feeble, not smart, you don’t cut the mustard, Look at you now – you’re getting all flustered!”
I ceded them rightness for some little while ‘Til following a Way helped develop my style So those voices have gone along with complicity No more self-lies, just authenticity!
Wondering Pilgrim 