True Freedom

People want to be individuals, to be themselves and to do what they want. They want to be free, especially after the 20th century when it must have felt (and for some people it actually was) that their lives were being controlled. People wanted to get away from that, escape to the Outside. But has this gone too far?
   People aren't meant to be caged, that's not why we were created. We were made with a will and a desire to roam and discover. However there is a difference between true freedom and merely trying to shake off all advice and authority. In fact true freedom can only come when we accept and honour the advice and guidance we are given.
   One of the main reasons I believe that there is so little respect in the Western world (and elsewhere) is due to people trying to be their own person, owned by no one and responsible to no one. This can be seen from the poor way we treat our politicians to the lack of respect between pupil and teacher in almost every school across the country.
   True freedom comes in belonging. A young person on leaving home for the first time may say 'I'm free' but is more likely that he or she is just a part of the next stage of life, maybe bound by stereotypes or by a job. And as humans we crave company, inside we long to be a part of a group, which contradicts our desire to be 'free'.
   But God offers both. Come to him and belong to him and he'll show you what freedom really looks like. When you're with him nothing else matters. The world and all that's in it cannot constrain or contain you.

The Silent Pianist - Part 2

The next night I hoped he would leave another note, but he didn't, and as before I had fallen asleep to the soft tinkling of the old piano.

The days that followed were very busy, I had let work catch up with me and I didn't have time to go and listen to the pianist. Would he notice my absence? I wondered as I sat at my desk late at night, scratching out essays.
   Finally, on Friday evening, I am free to go and hear him again. I think about taking my friend, but decide against it. There will be time for her to come, but tonight I want to go by myself.
   As I enter the room and make my way past empty tables it strikes me as being terribly quiet. Maybe I'm a little earlier than usual but there are remarkably few people, especially for a Friday. I sit at my table and it's only then that I realise he's not there. The piano is silent. My first thought is that he hasn't arrived yet, but he's always been here by this time. Then perhaps he's having a break, while there are fewer people, but the piano is pushed right into the corner and the lid is shut. Something is wrong here.
   The waiter comes over, smiling and asking if I want my usual, but I just look at him and say, 'Where is the pianist?'
   The waiter looks over at the piano, as if he'd only just noticed too, but then he looks back at me and says, 'He's left. Finished on Wednesday.' He's not smiling anymore. 'Shame, he was good. Brought the people in. You can tell they've all gone somewhere else tonight.'
   I'm not really listening. All I heard was, 'He's left.' After a moment my brain starts working again. 'Where's he gone?' I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
   'I don't know,' replies the waiter. 'He didn't seem quite as happy this week, though. Made mistakes I hadn't heard all the time he's been here. Maybe something's happened with his family or something and he's had to go home.'
   He made mistakes, I think. Something happened. I try to stop myself, but I can't help wondering, was it my absence? Oh please say he hasn't left because I wasn't here.
   'Did he leave any note?' I ask.
   'Not that I know of. Just told the manager that he was sorry but he had to go.'
   I still can't believe it.
   'I need to see to another table; I'll bring you a drink.'
   'Wait,' I say, and he turns back. 'Do you know his name?'
   'Benjamin Jury,' he says and walks away.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

If I had to choose one performance that stood out in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, out of all the splendid actors and actresses I would choose Maggie Smith playing Muriel. Her story was for me the most wonderful, the most complete and satisfying. Of all the characters in their twilight years she is the one who is still living and giving. However the film belonged to India, which sparkled. Light and life jump off the screen. There is adventure there that the western world seems to have decided doesn't exist. Too many people have looked at life and have thought that they were born and someday they'll die and in between the wheels go round and round. We've given up belief that there's anything else, but what if there is? What if there is something better at the end, and it's worth living for, even if it means an adventure. Stepping Outside the box.

Who is man that you are mindful

David didn't know how long he'd sat on the bench, but darkness had fallen around him almost unnoticed. The park was still and quiet and the lack of lights made the night all the more clear. He continued to sit on the bench, not moving even a muscle, totally relaxed.
   As the darkness deepened stars began to appear in numbers David had never seen before, and the longer he sat there the more amazed he became. To get a better view and stop the crick in his neck David lay down on the bench, which was uncomfortable but he didn't care. Soon there were so many points of light he was finding it hard to pick out the well know constellations.
   Lying there David began to contemplate the vastness of the universe, and how much there was in it. Tiny, glowing, pink pricks that millions of light years away were giant, raging, balls of fire, and suddenly David felt very small.
   A shooting star flared for a moment and was gone.
   'My life,' David said aloud, 'is just a shooting star; burning for a moment and going out.' And yet here I am, he thought, and despite the massive-ness of the universe, or this world even, someone has given little me a chance to live. This made David feel even smaller, so he stopped thinking again and gazed up at the sky and then he spotted the Milky Way, and once he'd seen it he couldn't look at anything else.
   Men can argue and fight and die, but the stars remain forever, David thought, and I can lie on this bench tonight and tomorrow I can return to work, but somehow none of that will ever be enough. There must something more.

A day for pancakes

Sift the flour and crack the egg, mix in the milk and butter the pan. Get out the lemon and the sauces and, if you're like me, regret that you don't have any maple syrup.
Do you have friends round, or are you sharing a stack with a loved one?
Are you branching out into savoury pancakes?
And most importantly, can you flip your pancake without it folding over or indeed toss it right up in the air? (I'm still working on this bit)

Maybe you're not interested. Maybe it's all media hype. Or maybe it's the last day before lent, marking the start of the lead up to Easter. A day to use up things you're not going to eat for a few weeks, resisting their tempting flavours.

Whether you like them or not, today is a day for pancakes.

The Rugby Match

Story inspired by this picture taken by Ray McManus that won the second prize Sports Singles as part of the World Press Photo awards.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/in-pictures-16979784





It was only five o’clock but heavy cloud made the light terrible. The world had turned colourless and damp like a murky watercolour painting. Everything was a mix of grey and brown as the muddy field merged with the darkening sky.

Light rain had fallen all afternoon, but it wasn’t until the game started that it really began to pour. A sparse crowd of parents and friends huddled on the sidelines, peering out from under umbrellas and raincoats, hoods pulled low. The grass quickly disappeared and it became harder to pick out the pitch markings, while the two teams became indiscernible as mud coated every player from head to foot.

          The ball was even harder to handle than usual and both teams made mistakes regularly. The tackles still came in but running was treacherous and kicking suicidal. The players, though, barely noticed. For them it was just a part of the game.

Afterwards the janitor moaned loudly at the state of the corridors and changing rooms. He didn’t like rugby. When he’d been younger the tougher kids had always frightened him. Now wet winter nights and the prospect of a long evening cleaning made him miserable.

          This night was one too many. He quit.
            The next morning girls squealed as they tried to avoid the mess in the P.E. corridor, but he wasn’t there to hear. When the telephone rang he told the headmaster where to find the broom cupboard.

The next time the school had a match, the boys were told to change outside. This time they moaned, but they won: 34-8. Now they do it every time.

The Silent Pianist

The pianist in the corner plays on. I have been his only companion for two hours now, but still his fingers keep up their constant movement, beating out one beautiful piece after another. Does he know I am still here? Does he realise everyone else has left?
            At first they applauded, but slowly they tired and then they departed. For me though there is something irresistible about his music, I must stay to listen. He is playing out his life, his heart, his soul; but all I know is that he is a pianist, and I love him.
            I have come every day for a week, and stayed every night until the early hours of the morning. Always though he outlasts me. My eyes droop and when I wake he is gone. I cannot bring myself to stop his playing, and if I did, I do not think I would have the words to say to him. He too, would remain silent, the piano is his voice, but that is not to say he does not have any words to say. I know this because last night he left me a note.

You are very beautiful.

Tonight I have a note ready for him. I couldn’t think of a reply that summed up my feelings for him and his music. So instead I have simply put, ‘Thank you.’ It’s a beginning.