Writing a Novel

Three years ago I set out to write a novel and, last autumn, I succeeded in producing the first draft of 70,000 words. 

I wanted to write a magical reality novel based around the farm in Worcestershire where I spent the first eight or so years of my life. It’s place to which I have been drawn back to explore, lockdowns permitting, and write about the landscape and wildlife there within a quirky tale of magic and rural life. 

There was much wrong with it, but there was also some good - not least the sense of completion of a long journey of development. My wife and daughter, who are both avid readers, were more than happy to rip it to shreds and give praise in equal measure.

The main problem, or one of them, was the abundance of ideas - too many. My aim was to write what excited and interested me which was too much and the plot needed more work.

The novel might be better reworked into a series of short stories, then I could develop the themes different ways and not get lost in the deep depths of 70,000 words. It also might be better for me to write it in the first person. This would force me to confront the challenge of writing with more emotional attachment which wasn’t part of my writing style.

I will go back to the drawing board and completely restructure my plot lines and clarify the magical world in which it is set. I enjoyed creating a long text, but I found myself easily getting lost in the bulk of it, particularly as I have other things in life that need my attention or which stimulate me creatively. 

My aim is to write about what interests me and I have no publishing goal to work towards - it is the experience that counts. Formal publishing can take years with little, if any, financial reward and self-publishing would need me do do all the promotion. I’ll think about it and see what feels right to do.

Reflection

 

Oak tree

This picture was drawn to accompany the following observations made during a recent visit to Worcestershire. It took may hours to work out what to do and I had originally planned a black and white illustration. I am fairly happy with how it urned out though its complexity significantly slowed down my iPad which meant I struggled towards the end to tighten it up. I worked in Affinity Designer without a clear idea of where I wanted to go which again made it difficult.

The writing here was written mostly in-situ with later editing to aid readability.

A little after 7pm on a September evening and the sunlight catches the tops of the cider apples trees. There is a great majestic presence of an oak in the orchard. Towering above me with its solid deeply fissured trunk and heavy evenly spaced branches, the tree holds its great domed canopy over the smaller orchard trees. It isn't a solid network of leaves and branches but, one formed so it appears, of distinct clumps of leaves evenly spaced over the its outer perimeter. This allows the background sky to be seen as fragmented pale blue patches with developing creamy pink and grey clouds, each catching the last of the day’s sunlight.

There is complete stillness, not even the faintest of breath to persuade a leaf to move. The faint tapping of a woodpecker can be heard a little way away. The hum of a distant combine, crows, pigeons, chirping birds, sheep and an occasional dog create a subtle background ambience.

The neat rows of cider trees, some bearing bright green apples, others tinged with pink, line the hillside. This oak stands amidst them, possibly twenty times their age, as a reminder that the passing of time in nature is so different to our own lifespan and the changes man brings to a landscape.

Beneath the tree, acorns have fallen, landing on the carpet of soft mown grass, well kept to ease harvesting the apples later in the autumn when the trees are mechanically shaken and the apples swept off the ground by a tractor drawn harvester and loaded into trailers.

A tawny owl hoots. Colours around me change to reflect the more orange-gold light of the sun and, as dusk deepens, it fades to give a more even light that balances out the shadows.

I am surprised at how tall and open the tree is. The lowest branches are a good eight feet or so above the ground and there is no easily discernible browse line. It must have grown with relative ease in the clay rich soil near the bottom of this valley and out in the open too. Free from surrounding competition and with only a few signs of once broken branches it looks like it has had a good life.

A sudden rustling of the leaves around me comes as a surprise and then I feel the breeze around me too. The boughs catching the fading sun have turned to orange and the sunset is obscured by the apple trees. Clouds have taken on more coral colours, deepening with pinks blending into the cream. The breeze subsides, then returns in a more gentle manner before disappearing again to an almost imperceptible whisper. 

A flock of seagulls passes noisily overhead.

To leave a great tree like this must surely have been a sign of goodwill by the farmer. He has planted the apples leaving a gap in the rows for the tree. There is another oak about fifty meters away and I can’t recall many isolated trees like this around here. There are many in hedges such as the one on the top of the hill where I am camped or within woodland. I can't remember what these fields looked like before the orchard was planted. If I could remember back 50 years or so to my childhood I would have known. 

I look more closely at the evenly deeply fissured trunk and notice that at a height of around eight feet there are the stumps of branches that have been neatly sawn off. The lower branches were removed at some stage, presumably to allow orchard tractors to pass underneath without damage to either. This would account for the shape of the tree. The other tree nearby though, has no indication of this. Its shape is less of an umbrella, and more compact with a denser canopy. It has more lower branches close to the trunk thus you can't see up into the structure of the inner branches. I note that each tree is exactly in the middle of an apple tree row, so the orchard was laid out around the trees - well, give or take a couple of feet. I would have to talk to the farmer to clarify any of my observations. Agricultural practices can change quickly. These cider orchards may only be ten to fifteen years old so the oaks could see many more changes if they hung around for another hundred years or so.

As I walk away the nearly cloudless horizon has turned a definite pale orange colour. More orange than pink or green or blue. A bright pale orange, gradually deepening. A huge gentle arc across the whole field of view and over the silhouetted horizon of the western hills.

Across the valley on the opposite hillside, smoke from a bonfire hugs the ground for a mile or so, drifting gently down into the valley.

Another day has passed.

Notes from Hanley Childe

I have watched a late summer dawn break over the still, mirrored surface of a lake and now make my way back to my campsite over dew laden corn stubble and through the cider apple trees.

On the edge of a small wooded track, passing down from the cherry orchards to the damp, shady alder filled woodland, lies a tree trunk. It is an ideal place upon which to sit and absorb my surroundings. Many years ago it had fallen across the gentle bank beside the bridleway and now its decaying form is covered in soft green moss. A slate-grey leafy lichen is growing along the side facing out away from bank. This forms flat, paper-like structures with creamy upturned edges. For various reasons I initially thought it was a fungus and, when I couldn’t locate it in any identification guide, I realised it was dog lichen (Peltigera Canina). 

There is a deep “croak, croak, croak” in a tree high above me. I assume it is a carrion crow. However, once home I listen to various crow calls on the internet and realise it was likely to be a raven. I hadn’t even given this possibility a thought and will have to look out for them more carefully the next time I visit here just to be sure.

Pigeons form a background wall of cooing and tits chatter nearby. A wren sings nearby, and then a robin too. I notice the gentle murmur of stream down in the alders. It is forever damp here, even in the driest of summers, and it always has a smell of marshy, willowy, muddy, decaying vegetation. The path of churned up deep reddish clay reveals puddled holes where horse hoofs had sunk into the slippery softness. Greater plantain, with its broad oval leaves and tall flower stalks thrives where the the soil is bare on the path. There are several tall purple stalks of angelica reaching up several feet out of the cool earth. Their leaves are the palest of greens, almost cream, standing out in sharp contrast to the darker tones of the surrounding nettles and brambles. The broad ball-like seeding inflorescences composed of thousands of tiny flowers are conspicuous in the space above the undergrowth between the trees.

Leaves are just beginning their autumn descent in this dark secluded corner of the landscape and honeysuckle is still in flower entwined in vegetation by the edge of a small duckweed covered pool. A squirrel appears on a branch nearby and runs off.

There is more deep croaking above me, an eerie call, in what feels an enclosed place of shadows and timelessness.

The Apple Weaver

Some of you may already know I am writing a novel based on farming life in Worcestershire. As part of the process, I am producing a small, very limited edition booklet of nature/farming observations, short stories and illustrations inspired by some of my research. The ‘stories’ are more like teasers for longer pieces of writing - just like rough sketches are made before a final painting. They combine elements of natural history, farming, fictional characters, weddings, cabbages, magic and mysterious happenings in the countryside. The booklet is a mix of real life observations blending into quirky fictional writing.

If you would like a copy it is called 'The Apple Weaver' and it is an A5, 44 page professionally digitally printed and bound booklet. Pre-orders by Sunday this week, 9 December, to me. Cost is £5 a copy, payable on delivery, expected the week before Christmas.

Writing a Book

I have started writing my novel. It is a big project and one that I am very excited about because it brings together all the things that actually interest me: creative writing, illustration, gardening, agriculture, folklore, landscape, nature, history and much more. It is basically about Worcestershire rural life 1850s to present, apples and strange goings on in the countryside. I'm not going to go into detail here at the moment because, if ever I get famous, no doubt people might read this in the future and find out things I may not want them to know. Or I could just delete this post!

Each day I am trying to add a little more here and there. Much of the work at the moment is in planning, reseach and trying to keep track of everything; and even remembering what I wrote a few days ago. I will write more soon.

Stone Barn

Rain encroaches along the valley. The stones from which the barn has been built turn darker as the clouds lower and the fine mist heavies itself with ever increasing raindrops. An hour ago, the steep hillsides of woodland and pasture seemed to be almost painfully quiet to those unused to rural remoteness. Now the rain drums subtly on tree, roof and road. The warmth of a sunny spring evening still seems a distant hope even at the end of March. 

The only indication that this building might hold many memories is a pre-restoration photograph on the wall and the name: The Granary.  The walls and beams, now home to central heating, a dishwasher, microwave and flat screen tv have become a holiday home. Tasteful to the modern eye but it has lost most of its agricultural identity. I must take a closer look tomorrow and see what secrets might remain to a more dedicated observer. Just what is original I wonder?

How easy it is for the memories of this place to be forgotten. Who was the farmer or farmers that have lived here, trying to make a living on these steep rock strewn hillsides? Who were their families, their way of life, customs and culture. Time erodes such things as it draws us continually to the future and memories are rarely held in the place of their formation.

Ludlow

‘We have been here for 40 years,’ says the owner of the pottery shop. ‘Your father probably helped us move into here, he may even have laid the floor’.

I pick up a few of the items and run sensing fingers over the glazes. They are too refined for my liking, a little too ornate. I like more earthy pottery, something with more character. They don’t speak to me.

I forget Minter-Kemp is a woman. The new gallery was pleasant and her large oil landscape paintings caught my eye; more so than the quirky humours cards I had known her for. Large bold brush strokes of bright colours on large canvases stood out. They were eye catching and if I had the space or the money I would get one.

Twenty Twenty now resides in place of the Silk Top Hat Gallery where Dan used to exhibit. A rather limited number of exhibits hung from the walls, I would like to have seen more, like there used to be. Perhaps it will evolve. There were some interesting linoprints which I liked but nothing I really fell in love with.

All shop keepers seem friendly and chatty, that is what I like about Ludlow. I feel as though I could know them all. 

It is a cold and wet Saturday at Easter. Heavy clouds cover the hill tops with a light drizzle dampening the cold air. I wonder if the market stall holders spend more on coffees and snacks to keep themselves warm than they make in sales. I could have bought a tin bath or a box of old teapots. I buy a tasty looking sausage roll and homemade pork pie for tea. Can’t easily get things like this at home and they usually taste good in this part of the world.

Sandwich

Waiting to order a sandwich. What shall I have today? 

‘Oh, hello. I’d like a ham and salad sandwich please. On white, please. To take away. Can I have a cappuccino as well? Thank you.’

Cough, cough. Oh dear, I need a drink.

‘Yes, a little please.’

I like this slim egg blue dress and matching cardigan. I know it is a slightly darker shade but it is soft, warm and it does go well with the dress. I think I was right to wear my heels, they are quite comfortable.

‘Regular, with sprinkles please.’

Keeping my hair long and straight was a good idea, I think my outfit looks quite good today. I seem to be appreciated and liked amongst the other course attendees. 

‘Oh, sorry, yes, sprinkles.’

Wonder if I’ve had any emails from the office?

‘Thank you. How much is that? Ok, here’s five.’

That looks a reasonably good sandwich, I’m feeling hungry.

‘Thank you.’

As business meetings go, this one is proceeding well. A new place, pleasant people, how have I come across to them I wonder? Just the afternoon to go and then the long Easter weekend will start. The dog will need a good walk in the morning. I’ll take her up onto the downs where she can run over the grassland with freedom. We could both do with some exercise.

Right where are we going to eat? Back in the conference room it seems. Must email the office with the edited text before I forget. Hopefully I will then have a few minutes to read through my presentation. 

Quotes

The following snippets of conversation were overheard from a table next to me in a cafe recently. It is always fun to go somewhere where there are interesting people to draw and listen to. I could create a picture from each of these quotes!

'I cut the hedge using scissors yesterday.'

'I'm off the Met (opera).'

'I'd prefer a nice soothing requiem.'

'They've got a penguin pie.'

'You always have such lovely dresses.'

'Oooh, I love scallops.'

'The Venerable Bede is my favourite author.'

'I must take these glasses (spectacles) back to the church.'

'Our grandson has named his cat Orion.'

'She said "our child's a boy, he does NOT read beatrix potter!"'

'I've got sixteen starlings.'

Conversation

"Hello, I thought you were just about to go." 

"I was, but I was enjoying sketching here and wanted to stay for a few moments longer." 

"I haven't seen you for a long time. When were you last up here?" 

"I can't remember, it must have been back in the spring when I walked up here with my family." 

"What has kept you away?" 

"Oh, you know, the busyness of life. Lots of things to do and I know that isn't really a very good excuse. Also, to be honest, I have been struggling to be inspired by things. It is hard when you feel you are a lonely walker and it isn't easy to find others who can share similar interests. I was out walking the other day with some friends and the most memorable thing I experienced was walking past a isolated tree and just stopping for a moment to listen to the sound of the wind in its branches. It was awesome, and yet in that moment of deep awe I was quite alone." 

"Do you feel alone now?" 

"I never feel alone outside in places like this. How can you feel alone when surrounded by trees, all the plants on the woodland floor, a wren, a chiffchaff, and so many other  natural things around me. Yes, I am alone in a human sense and no-one has walked past me on this path for the past hour or so. I am a brief visitor to this place today." 

"Why did you stop here?" 

"It is just an interesting group of trees up on the hilltop here. It is a long time since I have been to this wood when the trees are in leaf and I had forgotten how enclosed it feels when compared to being here in the winter. It is very windy today and here there is shelter for me because I wanted to do some drawing and I am not keen on sitting in the wind.  When I got here the sunshine was pouring down through the leaves and, due to the wind, the sunlight was dancing about all over the place. It looked wonderful." 

"What are you thinking of?" 

"Stillness, even in the wind. Here I can sit and just enjoy this place. The sun keeps going behind the clouds but when it is out the place is transformed into a place of light, shadow, colour, movement and wonder. Nature does many things so well. What often intrigues me is that I hardly ever meet anyone on my walks or when I am sitting drawing who I instantly feel has a deep interest in their surroundings like I do. I very rarely meet anyone who is an artist, a creative or anyone who looks vaguely like I could have an interesting conversation with them." 

"I know what you are feeling. I think it is a gift, and a path that is hard to walk. Perhaps it is a yoke you are carrying. Keep walking. These trees have stood for many years. They take time to grow, adapt and evolve in their landscape. I know you stuggle, but just look at the beauty you find all around you. This is the wonder of creativity. Take hold of your creative spirit again. Do not be afraid. Dance like the sunlight dances in this wood today." 

"Thank you. I think I needed some encouragement." 

"That's fine. It has been good to see you again. Come and talk anytime, anywhere." 

"Can I share this?" 

"Yes do." 

"Thank you for this place. I think I will go now and continue on my bike ride." 

"My pleasure. Bye bye."

Beauty and Prayer. Part 2

This follows on from the previous post.

Prayer

What is prayer? I like this definition from the internet 'Prayer is, at root, simply paying attention to God' (Dr. Ralph Martin, The Fulfillment of all desire). John O’Donohue calls prayer ‘A bridge between longing and belonging’.

I have thought a lot about beauty recently and now I have moved on to prayer. In many ways they are connected. Each is an expression of something desirable, something put right, something aesthetically pleasing. Each welcomes the desire to improve one's emotional balance. Each draws upon the soul to look outward into the world seek change.

Journal Notes

It is early on a late September morning and the sun has yet to break over the houses at the end of the garden. The sky is gradually brightening - an expanse of blue with a few high wisps of salmon pink clouds in the distance. It should be a bright day and I plan to go and spend a couple of hours just sitting on a local hilltop. A sort of mini retreat, and I will see what happens. I have no expectations. Being in Nature requires the suspension of expectation. I just need to let it ‘be’, for I cannot make anything happen. I am there to just let go and find a place from in which I can receive. I am not too sure whether I can really learn from Nature as such, but I feel I can definitely receive from a place that accepts my presence.

Prayer can possibly be said to begin with the placement of the self in the universe. The first thing that happens is that you acknowledge yourself. It is you that forms the starting point, you are the centre of what will follow. You are the initiator.

Can prayer happen without your presence? Can Nature pray in your absence? Imagine an empty cornfield. Where or when does prayer happen? I started to think that an empty field cannot pray but once I stand in that field then prayer will happen. It needs me to be the initiator and the focus or does it? My intention for the prayer is what matters. How does that prayer leave me and how does it affect the recipient of the prayer? How does what I am thinking about in that field touch something else? Can it? Will it? What are the factors that decide if, how and when a prayer will work?

What are the boundaries between my imagination and prayer? I could easily pray that a teleportation device would suddenly appear and by pressing a button I could be instantly transported back to my homeland. This is unlikely to happen and is this just wishful imagination? So does prayer then have to be something that could, in reality happen? I could pray for Alice in Wonderland to appear with a wonderful tea party accompanied by lots of English speaking animals. Well, this could happen, but not in the form that I imagine it. I could come up here one summer with my daughter with a few of her cuddly toys for a picnic. But then is there here just a wishful imagining of something that is based around a collection of varied subconscious thoughts that I have picked up over the past few weeks?

Prayer must be an idea about something that will manifest itself in someway though how it does so may not be quite as we expect it to. If there is a perceived answer to prayer then is it not just our consciousness taking note of something that may have actually occurred anyway? Is it just random whether prayer works or not? Is it just an over positive, intense emotional moment that affects us psychologically and alters mental processes in ways that could be construed as being attributed to a ‘spiritual’ moment.

Prayer is about me having particular thoughts and directing them at something. How can my thoughts influence something - say, internally for healing or externally to people or situations? And what about a group of people praying?

There is a hope that by praying there is a supernatural element that can change the ways the universe is. We pray because we want to change things around us that are unjust, unwell, painful etc. We have an emotional attachment to wanting to better our lives.

Back to the illustration of the field, I am in Nature, if I believe that Spirit is around me then I am not alone and I am part of a bigger picture and somehow I connect with that. I was born in to it and it sustains me. I cannot survive independently of nature.

Prayer is being in touch with beauty.

Notes made amongst the trees:

I've cycled to one of my regular haunts a wooded hill top where sycamore birch and ash form an open, spacious area. The tall slender trunks reach upwards to the high enveloping canopy. As a progression from the earlier thought of praying in an open field, I wondered how I would feel being in amongst the trees. I have enjoyed the freedom that is presented by open fields and hilltops before. Sometimes the liberated feel of the body away from any physical restriction is the right place to be in. Now I am exploring this patch of trees and wondering the following: does prayer exist here when there is no human present?

If I and nature are imbued with the same spirit then although I have a conscious mind and can entertain the concept of prayer, could not the trees around me also, in some way, be part of Nature's way of prayer - their presence being part of the eternal evolution of life on this planet.

In a place like this is am surrounded by objects of nature. Trees, grass, moss, fungi, nettles etc. Each is present as a thing of natural beauty and creation. When an empty field is transformed into such a tangible expression of creation, this is where life exists in proliferation. It is in our nature to fall in love with the trees and see them as a thing of beauty and as a multi-faceted resource. It is here, amongst the trees that I think the concept of prayer can be heightened.

In churches prayer is often expressed in groups of people. Here I am surrounded by other living non-persons, but could they not actually form the same function? Together with the trees I could pray. I could uses their symbolism and presence to help me form my prayers.

Here are some thoughts from Nimue Brown’s book (see Beauty and Prayer: Part 1)

'Essentially it is about entering a mystery, not getting a result.' John Pritchard, How to Pray, SPCK 2002.

'Prayer is, in essence, an attempt to start a conversation with something.’

'Much of the prayer work suggested by religious leaders, regardless of tradition, has nothing to do with petition. Prayer is more about entering into a relationship with the divine, being open to the voice of the spirit; open to direction and inspiration. Prayer is an invitation to the numinous to enter your life.'

'The important thing ... is being open to, and aware of, something beyond us. We break down the privacy of the world inside pour skulls, a little. Something else is then able to get in ... The actual existence of things beyond us. We might then learn to empathise with that which is not us, and start to care about it.'

'Everything we do brings us in contact with other living beings ... Everything we do automatically engages us with other manifestations of spirit. Everything is about such relationship and it all brings scope for meaningful exchange. If everything we do becomes prayer, then we should be listening to what is around us, with the intention to walk more lightly, cause less harm, use less, and live more harmoniously.'

What to pray for? Nimue sees much petition prayer as inappropriate because of the way it excuses the prayer from taking responsibility for their actions; it can be just an ego boost and a desire for a quick-fix, much like the modern consumerist culture we live in expects of us. We should pray more respectfully for:

Gratitude: our existence and expanding out to every part of our lives. That which hurts and challenges us can also help us to grow... these are the things that shape us. Look for what seems especially good, beautiful or precious... Seeing the good, responding to it, praising, appreciating and supporting, all help to make life that bit better for ourselves and others.

Strength and gratitude: although with petition prayer, if the solutions are given to us then we do not learn or grow, this can be useful. Asking for strength to endure, and the means to do the necessary work, is not about getting off lightly. It is about developing a quality of self.

Inspiration: as with the above, this is not a petition to get out of something. Inspiration solves problems, but does not take them away. Inspiration reduces insurmountable obstacles to hills we can feasibly climb. Inspiration allows us to look properly at the rock and the hard place, and respond by growing some wings.

Relationship: a way of seeking connection. We can pray to reach out, from a desire to experience, understand, learn and be changed by what we encounter.

Healing: prayers that seek to find a good way through. May be more effective than those that assume we know what the best method or outcome should actually be. Sometimes the most useful thing to do is to seek insight, not solutions.

Awen
There is a concept in Druidry of the idea of Awen which I like. I feel I can more easily identify with it as a Holy Spirit concept because it talks in a language that I identify with more easily. It is less paternalistic and personified (I am not a people person as such so this is more comfortable in my mind) and more in tune with a sense of creativity, inspiration, mystery and beauty. Here are a few random definitions from the internet:

‘Awen is the wisdom, truth and most of all the inspiration, Awen is Nature, the universal power behind life, yet it is never born and shall never die. Awen is a force or energy forged from an indivisible source that is the power behind the physical and non-physical or spirit forms Existence, and distinction between the natural and the super-natural becomes meaningless, as both are the personification of Awen Every link which is a part of nature, be it a man, animal, plant or elemental force, each holds its own little piece and together make up the whole chain which is Awen. Awen is the spirit of Druidy itself, it is knowing, sensing and feeling it in your essence and true being, it is the freedom to accept ones nature.(http://www.freewebs.com/nexusdruids/awen.htm)’

‘Loosely translated from Welsh, it means flowing spirit, or flowing inspiration. We know that it is a flowing spirit, a kind of life essence, a source of spiritual strength, prophetic insight and poetic inspiration.’

‘It is an awareness, not just on a physical and mental level but on a soul deep level – an awareness of the entirety of existence, of life itself.  It is seeing the threads that connect us all.  It is the deep well of inspiration that we drink from, to nurture our souls and our world and to give back in joy, in reverence, in wild abandon and in solemn ceremony.’

Beauty and Prayer. Part 1

Over the past few months I have been journaling as often as I can as part of a self-initiated healing programme to help me overcome anxiety issues. Two recurring themes seem to have presented themselves to me: the concepts of beauty and of prayer. I have come to see these two as being intrinsically connected to each other and what follows is a brief exploration of this.

The following books more eloquently expand various ideas and philosophies regarding beauty and prayer and have been helpful to me on this journey:

‘Timeless Beauty’ by John Lane, Green Books Ltd, 2003 (An artist takes a philosophical and cultural look at beauty)
‘Divine Beauty’ by John O’Donohue, Bantam, 2004 (A Catholic Scholar explores the human desire to belong)
‘Eternal Echoes’ by John O’Donohue, Perenial (Harper Collins), 2002 9(A Catholic Scholar explores divine beauty)
‘When a Pagan Prays’ by Nimue Brown, Moon Books, 2014 (A Druid takes an interfaith look at prayer and wonders why it works. An interesting look at prayer from a sceptics viewpoint covering prayer meaning, function, ethics, practice etc. I may not agree with all of it, but it was a refreshing look at prayer from a different and often useful perspective)

Some quotes to start with:

‘The human soul is hungry for beauty; we seek it everywhere - in landscape, music, art, clothes, furniture, gardening, companionship, love, religion and in ourselves. No-one would desire not to be beautiful. When we experience the Beautiful, there is a sense of homecoming. Some of our most wonderful memories are of beautiful places where we felt immediately at home. We feel most alive in the presence of the Beautiful for it meets the needs of our soul. ..... The Beautiful stirs passion and urgency in us and calls forth from aloneness into the warmth and wonder of an eternal embrace. It unites us again with the neglected and forgotten grandeur of life.’ John O’Donohue, Divine Beauty.

‘For whatever we believe, beauty-beauty ‘whereof one cannot speak’-remains unchallenged as a fact of everyday experience. We can see it, we can feel it, we can know it as a sensuous reality that accompanies us throughout life. It is something we encounter on street corners, in public buildings, waiting for a train or looking up from a book. We can also know that there is nothing so inspirational, nothing so transfiguring, nothing so noble, nothing so elevating as transient beauty. But its origins, its significance and destination must remain a mystery. ... For a century or more it seems that we have been running away from silence, stillness and beauty. For all that time, modernity has engendered a culture that trivializes and feeds our discontent .... it is too seldom that we pay attention to the beauty of things. In the frantic unending hustle of contemporary urban life, it is easy to become unaware of the possibilities of acceptance-a total acceptance- of things as they are-just life as it is. .... We need to practice a new way of looking at nature: not to learn about her, but to learn from her. .... For it is a fact that our crisis is one of the psyche, not politics, nor economics, technology and the environment. It is not only the Earth but we who need to be healed-to become whole again. The quest for beauty can make a significant contribution to that healing. For the love of beauty heals and comforts, nourishes and inspires. It absolves and celebrates. It can help us recover our dignity. It is the bridge between time and eternity, earth and heaven’. John Lane, Timeless Beauty.

Here are some edited notes from my journal where I first started to think about beauty:

... I need to relax into my artwork. I can find it hard to relax and focus on things, there must be a way to do it and I should find that way. Keep it simple and all will be revealed. I wonder what I can draw? I wonder what I can create and I wonder how the elements can fit together? Beauty in the time here writing and beauty in the page before me. Beauty is everything, because beauty comes from God.

God and the beautiful reside together. Is that what I want: to find a connection between beauty, God and my artwork? So what is beautiful? Is God beautiful? God created everything and so created beauty. Thus God must know beauty. God must know the Original Blessing - that blessing was was bestowed amongst us in Jesus - His Son was beauty personified. Beauty and pain, peace and war - the juxtaposition of elements - anything can be beautiful in the right context.

In this place I pray for healing. I pray that as I discover beauty so I will discover healing. Beauty is healing - it is the opposite of pain - and healing can be found in the beauty of pain. Pain can be beautiful as can be the release from that pain. All that I create should be beautiful. When I begin to see beauty within me and in my art then I will begin to see God at work. Then God will be my healer.

On holiday in Wales I was awakened to seeing so much beauty around me and I wanted to reach out and touch it. It wasn’t just the landscape that I liked though. I was more inspired by the way that people find a need to make their surroundings aesthetically pleasing. For me it was a moment of having my eyes opened to this desire we all seem to have - to plant window boxes, to put up pictures and to improve our immediate surroundings. I want to create beauty.

“Recognise the beauty around around you and your pain will go. Recognise that you are a thing of beauty - part of the Original Blessing and thus always good. Find those things that are beautiful to you and use them to inspire your art. Make mistakes and yet persevere in all that you do. Relax into it and see where you are lead.”

I have wondered where one draws the line as to what is and isn’t beautiful. Usually it is matter of perspective by the onlooker. I recognise that there are times when there is deep trauma, pain, hurt and suffering where beauty seems to be absent and this just as to be accepted as part of the great mystery of life and existence. Nimue Brown talks about nature [and therefore I take it that means the whole of the Created world] being ‘good’. This is a challenging concept for it then implies that death, violence, suffering, disease and decay are all necessary parts of nature. It accepts that life includes all of the bits we don’t like. There are no optional things, nor irritations we should be able to get rid of, it is all intrinsic to existence. To ask God to release us from things is asking God for something for nothing. We just want to rely on God to get us out of a situation and to take no personal responsibility for anything that happens. We can do what we like, therefore why care? God will sort it out. Why bother living, I say? She also asks why does God let certain events happen? Well, what about the events God may have prevented from happening that we, no doubt, know nothing about?

When thinking about beauty I realised how similar it was to prayer in many aspects. Both are ways in which we seek the transformation of ourselves or our surroundings into something more aesthetically pleasing or that gives a positive transformation to some person, thing or event. It seems to be something that is ingrained in our psyche. Whether we are brushing our hair, hanging a picture on a wall or admiring a landscape, we are looking for a way of finding an emotional bond with something and increasing our identity and place in the world around us.

Standing in Light

Creative writing from a worship training day at church.

In the light of the winter's sun, with longer days and a brilliant brightness that awakes the cold and the frozen, I feel the beckoning energy of spring that has lain hidden with the dark soul of winter. My heart finds a beat that reaches out from coldness and I am finding a freedom and desire to reach out to regain my sense of wilderness, curiosity, desire and passion. And in this sense of belonging I find my longing. I open out my arms and hold my palms upward - feeling the cool air running between my fingers. I am drawn outwards: away form inward pains and self-consciousness. I am called to receive love, awe and acceptance from the landscape around me. My body and the Spirit meld in the sensuousness of being. I am here: standing in your touch, standing in your being, standing in your love.

Long Shadow

After the dark mornings of mist and rain a frost has arrived. The silvered landscape of grasses and leaves, crisp in the new sunlight, cannot escape the oncoming winter. Across this cold earth I silently move, reaching over ploughed furrows and emerging corn. A glossy backbird on scarlet hawthorn watches me from above as the golden light brings brilliance to the fiery colours of tree and hedgerow. I reach out to the wary pheasants, the chattering fieldfares and hunting buzzard. Beneath the cloudless blue sky I belong with the sunrise for a few minutes before I gradually retreat back to hold the frost in the hollows and shade.

I am Long Shadow.

Seashore

I am standing on the shore. Waves gently wash over the tumbling pebbles. Too and fro, in a rhythm of sound and voices that have sung continuously since their creation on this cosmic anomaly. Looking around I see the shore extending away from me - a place of constant movement and change between the land and the sea. The air is fresh and the water unpolluted, as it will remain so for millions of years to come. For I stand alone. The only one. There is no-one else, that is all to come. The pebbles are rounded and well worn, precious minerals gradually being eroded and dissolved into the sea. They have only just begun their journey of transformation into the web of life. I have not yet been created. Man has not yet been born, and yet here on this sea shore I feel the beginnings of his birth. Here, where water, air and earth meet life will begin its epic journey. If I were able to foresee, and with control over the deep creative energy that embodies the earth, would I allow the evolution those that would destroy this fragile creativity. I know what will happen to this place.

Picking up a pebble I hold it in my hand. It shines in the bright sunlight and its strong colours reflect the untouched beauty around me. One day this pebble may become part of me and we will touch again.

Listen

Sitting, waiting and listening. In a place of belonging. He looks out over the patterned parallel lines of emerging wheat to the distant flame coloured autumnal trees. Shadowless they stand in the almost pleasantly warm early morning breeze. The fields seem lifeless under the greyness of the heavy clouds. Searching for meaning; searching for the unknowable, searching for the unexpected; searching for that something that will transform the ordinary into spirit - the real into the surreal.

Skylarks sing high and unseen. Above the gentle fields their song feels as though this should be springtime and not the end of October. A flock of fifty or so noisy seagulls rise from not far away and circle past him, silently - twisting and turning before vanishing against the horizon.

Once more in the stillness. Alone, it would seem at first glance, but yet not. A ladybird and a small dark brown snail move by his feet - this field edge being the beach to the sea of monoculture. The will of Gaia is always strong: to bring life and bio-creativity to any bare land.

From the far distance the repeated ring of a single church bell mingles with the song of the larks. Together they call to him, both have the same message. Listen to me, listen to song; listen to 'words', listen to an 'other', listen to spirit. Unlike in the film 'The Wicker Man' two worlds of otherness sit side by side. They become one.

Apples

The late summer sunshine gathered in the dappled colours of the orchard. Cool green shadows, dew-laden grass and scattered apples belonged patiently in an autumnal morning. She walked silently, thoughtfully and sensingly. This was a place in which to give thanks and this is what had brought her here. Here she could see the fruits of the Awen before her. She knelt to the ground and selected a fruit that seemed to catch her eye. It seemed to reflect the whole of the orchard in its presence. The mottled reds and greens of its skin danced in harmony with those of the fallen leaves that sprinkled the ground around her. With thanks, she held the apple up to the sky and here the whole earth become embodied in this single, beautiful fruit. Creation, energy, life, desire - intertwined with the Divine. The earth became the fruit and the fruit became the earth. Round and fragrant, full of promise and goodness. Yet, at the back of her mind, as she brought the apple to her soft lips she remembered the tale of her sister Eve and the temptation that could only have come as she sought the presence of God. To eat the apple was to taste the goodness of God. How could God forbid the taste of His original blessing? As her mouth drew upon the fruit of the Divine garden her senses cascaded with delight. The earth tasted so good.. Here was the ultimate creation, here was a Divine blessing.

The apple tree stood and watched, it was after all, part of the narrative. And yet it remained unchanged. The Creator; standing, laden with more tempting delights as if giving an offering to the earth, sacrificing itself for the wondrous delights of its fruit.

She stood and gazed at the tree and gave it a whispered thanks. She extended a hand to a laden bough and welcomed a delicate touch of the aged bark. Together, the two of them, brought together by a single apple, a union of understanding. How could this be wrong? Both had been given life, a cosmic life. There could be no separation for each belonged to each other.

But few understood.

The Weary Traveller

With the dream of bare feet upon cool grass and the fragrance of damp earth upon which to dwell and Be, the traveller came to the land. From the emptiness of beginnings and the darkness beyond remembrance she came. Through the dust that stirred in the breeze and the sunlight warming the expectant air she came with desire. A longing; a vision - an aura of excitement that breathed with soul. With a tentative toe she dipped into the new waters that glistened beneath an empty blue sky. The clouds would come soon. From her spirit she released her imagination to play games, birthing into existence colour, form, movement and the senses of life. She had waited for this, for a length of time that held no meaning or understanding.

She sat down upon a stone at the water's edge and called out to the shimmering landscape of life before her.

"I see myself in before me. I am with you all and you know me. Yet time will pass and I will be like a leaf disppearing into a whirl of leaves in an autumn of cold expectations. My journey will have faded from memory but its presence will always be with you. Those who look for it will find it, amongst the shadows and light."

Time passed and she faded into the sound of the waves lapping on the shingle shore. The stones would hold her body and remember seeing her, but her spirit ran wild through the whispering trees, the wild waters and the fruitful earth. Her spirit an free.

Lyngham Vallet: A Place to Be.

An October morning on the edge of Bircher Common near Croft Castle, Herefordshire

A place to be: where the valley lies, awakening to the cool, almost imperceptible pale salmon light of the new day.

A place to be: where shelter from the cold morning breeze is given by a thick gorse bush looking out over the trees below.

A place to be: where waves of bracken cascade down the valley sides under the birch and oak.

A place to be: where blackbirds and others call through the silence.

A place to be: where deep in the dark conifers the grunting of dear echoes over the landscape.

A place to be: where the subtle changes in the colours of the leaves call to the onset of autumn.

A place to be: where this small valley seems to hold treasure and peace.

A place to be: where, earlier, in a car sleeping. Cold and uncomfortable, yet beneath a moonlit sky.

A place to be: where a welcome can be given to the new day.