Lot’s wife

oh not to look back but trustingly head for the light. Not putting my trust in people but in God whose love works through everything even people 🙂

someone wise said be like a flat fish, moving around amongst the murky life on the bottom with eyes fixed on heaven

It is time




Here is the deeper reason. The poem below for me mirrors this deep truth and a greater knowing. In the twilight world Duffy’s words sing me though the first poem nails me:

“Somewhere on the other side of this wide night

and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you
and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.”
Carol Ann Duffy


I found this today in my drafts folder written on winter solstice. 5th anniversary. And this is as much to remind me as to share with you which I can’t:

Dear AP,

The earth has turned on its axis again and we are back on the slow journey to light.

I have just spent a dear week at the Mull Monastery reading Fr Sophrony We shall See Him as He is. And learning wholeness is embracing my brokenness. And the deeper humility of our utter wretchedness is accepting that we are held and filled with Grace and Love.

Wherever you are I pray you are finding this too.


I have just discovered the poems of UA Fanthorpe.  I so longed for you to be my Atlas, and this poem speaks for me. Your Atlas my dear Johannes,  is waiting to be found, sweet and chestnut-haired. Mine, I fear and rejoice at the same time,  is to be found within me:

There is a kind of love called maintenance,

Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it;

Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget

The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;

Which answers letters; which knows the way

The money goes, which deals with dentists

And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,

And postcards to the lonely; which upholds

The permanently rickety elaborate

Structures of living; which is Atlas.

And maintenance is the sensible side of love,

Which knows what time and weather are doing

To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;

Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers

My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps

My suspect edifice upright in the air,

As Atlas did the sky.



and here I am relishing being alone. Not having to worry if I say the wrong thing that will make him angry, not soothing and comforting and reassuring and parenting, though all this is fine in their time

Knowing that my heart’s magnet pulls beyond him or him to You and now and all. A submerging, a melting, a twisting inexorable and delicious


Spaciousness, paying full attention to each thing we do, each person we meet. Like writing this post, or more importantly to remind me of a wholesome quality of prayer, of living. Giving in to each moment. Giving it elbow room.

And now I shall slip away to sleep. And if anyone stumbles upon this they might to allow a little more spaciousness in their thinking/life.

As a musician friend once said to me:  “Give the notes wriggle room”.

Good night x