When I long to write I am least able. The need to condense an experience in words is most illusive the more intense the moment. When the feeling of wonder whirls most westerly, when I am swamped. Over spilling with a gratitude and longing, it is then writing rings reductive. Now, all the goodness of the universe envelopes me and leaves me breathless on a lake district fell. Great Gable to my face, Sca Fell on my back. Tent flapping in the wind, sky still setting stands. Simply stands. Stillness somehow soars. A sense of desire strongly sets in and roughly twists my inner parts. Twists them into the shape of a simple longing. I long for everyone to know love! Against the odds love, unlikely places love, unlovely people love. In an instant I am urgently grateful for the love that permeates my own life. Surrounded by it, I am cradled and rocked within a void. The hills heave a frozen cloak through the sky throwing incandescent frost light ardently. Heated rock that once flowed suddenly seems animated now, not indifferent. Here, I am vaulted by oneness and present in the joyful value of it. In fact for a moment I am connected. It is The Self melted in more.Though I know its the gaps, the scale, the reality of uncertainty that prised me open and created this. I don't seek to appropriate mass meaning out of thin air nor assign a one size fits all answer but instead I want to anchor the personally significant to some kind of bedrock, one I can share. The tension between personal experience and community rushes in with the wind. May I find ways to express the inarticulate. Seek opportunity to unfurl this longing in action. Find the simple faith to enact a beautiful and hope filled expression of life. May I fight for the purity that sometimes swells up within me. A purity living in each of us and waiting in everything, so goes my chosen belief.
