I came from a family that had a surprising lack of Godliness in it.
I had a lot of family at one time, and we all seemed to live in close proximity to each other, however as time has marched on, that family has dissipated all over the place, all over the globe actually.
I used to think that was a good thing. Now I doubt that. In fact I doubt a lot of things I used to hold as an undeniable truth.
I had 2 stout and dependable Grandma's and a rather glamorous, if less dependable Mama. They were from another time, a place that we today would hardly recognise. I remember glimpses of it - working class, Nottingham people who lived on the cusp of respectability, who were neither pretty or refined. And they certainly didn't have any passing association with God or churchly ways.
In fact neither my sister nor I were baptised and I suspect neither were my parents, their parents nor their parents parents. If ever there was a family bereft of Godliness we were it. Too busy trying to get by, to live, to manage; to worry about feeding their soul.
At about 14 I took it upon myself to go to Church. In part I felt drawn to Jesus very definitely and I felt I needed him in my life, and in part too it was because I loved being inside churches - and I still do. The referent hush, the incense (this engendered a life long love of incense that lasts to this day) The church was Anglican High church and the priest, sang the Eucharist. I spent a good portion of every Sunday at St Stephens - I took my younger sister along with me - we attended Sunday School and stayed for the Eucharist service - I was baptised at 15 by my own choice and was confirmed the following year at Epiphany.
I remained a committed Christian throughout my young years, through University, where I had the privilege to have as my chaplain the present Archbishop of Wales, Barry Morgan - a wonderful man and an inspiration in the pulpit. He ruined me really, because after University, no one else matched up - I was working, had a young family and little time - and I became completely disenchanted with going to church, all the people all trying to appear Christian, but failing, for being forced in to a mould that didn't actually fit my life, didn't feel relevant and secularism and consumerism just beckoned easily. My husband didn't 'do' church, and nor did my children - it seemed anachronistic.
I felt the severance however, felt the disconnection and I was looking for something to fill that spiritual hole - Buddhism maybe? I could do it at home in my own time. No. It was alien to me even if it felt intellectually fulfilling.
And that was how Paganism found me - the grounding to the Earth, the connection to the wheel of the year turning, a year that was Northern and familiar. And what a pantheon of Gods, Goddesses and paraphernalia there was to research and explore.
There was something powerful and empowering about it - and I am deeply connected to it - however, I am conscious of it being too powerful - I don't doubt its relevance I just struggle with whether this is a portal for things that are best left untapped.
Because I am undoubtedly monotheistic, and I see in God a something that transcends the Earth - an all powerful being that is not personal or approachable - who doesn't concern himself with the minutiae. I became wary that I was inadvertently allowing the unholy a foothold, a wayward child playing with fire.
Was I consorting with demons? I am careful not to say the Devil. Satan is a Christian construct and I am no longer a Christian. And herein lies my confusion. How can I be a Pagan who is frightened of what God thinks she is dabbling with? A Christian God no less.
When I look at the damage done in the name of religion - I see that organised religion has a lot to answer for, a lot to be called to book to explain - and I don't see myself returning to the Anglican fold.
I do however see that I have an affinity with the concepts of the Baha'is
A single, personal, inaccessible, omnipresent, omnicient God who created all things.
I don't want to be a constant God chasing individual - but I am not finding spiritual sustenance, and have decided that in order to find peace with God - I should seek him - through prayer and meditation - to not give my search a label or a name - but simply to seek closer communion - to bring Godliness back in to my life - without artifice or glamour.
I'm not even certain I know how to pray anymore to be honest. Reciting prayers learned from Sunday School isn't enough - but am I allowed to just 'talk' to him. Some say, you shouldn't even be uttering his name - and God is likely neither a him or a her - but a sublime being. There seems to be a significant amount of arrogance underpinning any notion of just talking.
All my years skirting around religions has left me massively unequipped to handle what I am tasking myself.
Sunday 28 December 2014
Sunday 7 December 2014
Requiem.....by Heather
Over the last two weeks I have been completely over awed and over occupied by a legal suit that my husband is involved with. As with all of these sorts of things it involves people, some of whom used to call themselves friends, who sadly no longer do; it relates to money (of course), it relates to greed and fear - peculiarly human failings.
On Friday, I was struck again at the stupidity and crassness of some of these people, as yet another legal turn was made, shocking and irritating me anew. As I sat at my dressing table, I felt anger and worry well up inside of me and I began to cry.
I felt very sorry not just for myself, but for my husband, caught in the middle of all this mess, and so near to Christmas - it would ruin it for sure.
I felt so angry - as if the world had turned and we were somehow being picked on in a personal way - and I felt pretty wretched about this world and its workings. And I said so - out loud and with some vigour. Of course, my real lament was 'Why?'
Yesterday, I was looking over my facebook page and read a posting by a friend of mine. She said that on Friday, two young girls aged 16 were involved in a collision between a car and bus in a tiny and picturesque village near to Rutland Water - which is very near to where we both live and work. These two young girls, both went to school with my friend's son and he knew them. Both of these girls died at the scene.
A little while later, this same friend posted that, a young boy of 14, who had gone to primary school with her son, and had been battling cancer for the last 5 years had succumbed to the disease and he died yesterday afternoon - she was she said, completely undone by the events of the day.
I didn't know the young boy, nor the two young girls. None of my children had gone to school with them - I was just a stranger, reading about these events throughout the course of one day.
One day. 3 young little lives snuffed away. .
I can never conceive the depth of despair parents must go to, when a child dies.
Worse, however is realising that that pain is out there, throbbing and real - and here was I, only 24 hours previously, ranting at the world, why, why, why me?
I have a real fondness for Mozart his music transcends a world gone mad, however, I have a hard time reconciling Wolfgang's Requiem mass with my personal vision of God - which is far more in keeping with that embodied within the mass, celebrated by Gabriel Faure.
I pray that those children are in paradisium with a benevolent being, who can see fit to ignore a silly woman her hollow rants, in order to give all parents from around the world this week, who have lost a child, a little grace - and the strength to carry on.
Faure's In Paradisium
On Friday, I was struck again at the stupidity and crassness of some of these people, as yet another legal turn was made, shocking and irritating me anew. As I sat at my dressing table, I felt anger and worry well up inside of me and I began to cry.
I felt very sorry not just for myself, but for my husband, caught in the middle of all this mess, and so near to Christmas - it would ruin it for sure.
I felt so angry - as if the world had turned and we were somehow being picked on in a personal way - and I felt pretty wretched about this world and its workings. And I said so - out loud and with some vigour. Of course, my real lament was 'Why?'
Yesterday, I was looking over my facebook page and read a posting by a friend of mine. She said that on Friday, two young girls aged 16 were involved in a collision between a car and bus in a tiny and picturesque village near to Rutland Water - which is very near to where we both live and work. These two young girls, both went to school with my friend's son and he knew them. Both of these girls died at the scene.
A little while later, this same friend posted that, a young boy of 14, who had gone to primary school with her son, and had been battling cancer for the last 5 years had succumbed to the disease and he died yesterday afternoon - she was she said, completely undone by the events of the day.
I didn't know the young boy, nor the two young girls. None of my children had gone to school with them - I was just a stranger, reading about these events throughout the course of one day.
One day. 3 young little lives snuffed away. .
I can never conceive the depth of despair parents must go to, when a child dies.
Worse, however is realising that that pain is out there, throbbing and real - and here was I, only 24 hours previously, ranting at the world, why, why, why me?
I have a real fondness for Mozart his music transcends a world gone mad, however, I have a hard time reconciling Wolfgang's Requiem mass with my personal vision of God - which is far more in keeping with that embodied within the mass, celebrated by Gabriel Faure.
I pray that those children are in paradisium with a benevolent being, who can see fit to ignore a silly woman her hollow rants, in order to give all parents from around the world this week, who have lost a child, a little grace - and the strength to carry on.
Faure's In Paradisium
Thursday 20 November 2014
Graves Disease.....by Heather
I have a brand new computer, and so I don't have my photo directory which has a substantial collection of photos spanning the last few year which are still on my old computer. If I did, I could upload a rather nifty photo of myself - a selfie, of me, post work out and in lycra no less, posing in a mirror looking spectacularly slim - it was taken in 2011.
I look great.
Early in 2011 I had begun a crusade to reduce a stubborn half a stone and to firm up all that was in danger of going slack - and as luck would have it, that decision to get fit and get thin - ho hum! coincided with my husband training to run a marathon that same year. Actually it was no coincidence, he was looking pretty good on all that physical activity and although I wasn't up for a marathon, I wanted to see some results too.
2011 saw me as fit as I had ever been, I cycled alongside my husband during his gruelling training runs, I even took up short distance running myself, I was eating great, and was also filling in the spare time with yoga and Wii Shape. God I was good.
But there was a shadow on my horizon, insideous and dark.
My husband ran his marathon on the beautiful channel island of Jersey, 1st October 2011 and it was a stunning 27degrees - he was fantastic, he completed the run, got his medal and it was a marvellous 4 day mini break for the whole family.
Except I wasn't having such a marvellous time.
I was tired, wrung out, on edge, tearful, jumpy, I had breath stopping palpitatious and couldn't breathe very well and I was hot. I thought I would die of asphyxiation when we entered the hotel bedroom to find no air con and no breeze - I actually thought I would pass out, but it wasn't just the weather - I .
just couldn't stand heat, I was constantly burning up.
I sturggled on for those 4 days, but as we landed back in the UK, my first job upon getting in the car to drive home was to book a doctors appointment - because I knew something was dreadfully wrong.
I had Graves Disease.
Graves is an auto immune disease of the thyroid - an overactive thyroid.
The effects of this were thorough, and effectively brought me to my knees - there didn't appear to be a piece of me this thing didn't touch or negatively affect. Treatment has been lengthy and continues to this day,
Without going in to maudlin detail of how much I hate having a thyroid disorder - I can say that as far as this blog post is concerned, the long term effect has been to waste my muscles, increase my weight and increase it quickly and to limit my ability to engage in meaningful cardio workouts.
This has all be exacerbated by my age of course - so the perfect storm has meant I have started to feel trapped inside a body I don't really recognise much nor like living in.
Katy and I have been struggling for several years now with a number of aborted attempts at getting some control back, who would have thought losing a bit of weight could be so darn difficult.
It is almost as if my own body rebels against me.
I was beginning to despair - someone get me a tent, I need something to wear!!
However, I'm not dead yet, and nor do I intend to let this best me - not just yet anyway.
To that end I can report for the first time in something like 20 years, I've gone and joined a gym, because Heather has a new plan.......
I look great.
Early in 2011 I had begun a crusade to reduce a stubborn half a stone and to firm up all that was in danger of going slack - and as luck would have it, that decision to get fit and get thin - ho hum! coincided with my husband training to run a marathon that same year. Actually it was no coincidence, he was looking pretty good on all that physical activity and although I wasn't up for a marathon, I wanted to see some results too.
2011 saw me as fit as I had ever been, I cycled alongside my husband during his gruelling training runs, I even took up short distance running myself, I was eating great, and was also filling in the spare time with yoga and Wii Shape. God I was good.
But there was a shadow on my horizon, insideous and dark.
My husband ran his marathon on the beautiful channel island of Jersey, 1st October 2011 and it was a stunning 27degrees - he was fantastic, he completed the run, got his medal and it was a marvellous 4 day mini break for the whole family.
Except I wasn't having such a marvellous time.
I was tired, wrung out, on edge, tearful, jumpy, I had breath stopping palpitatious and couldn't breathe very well and I was hot. I thought I would die of asphyxiation when we entered the hotel bedroom to find no air con and no breeze - I actually thought I would pass out, but it wasn't just the weather - I .
just couldn't stand heat, I was constantly burning up.
I sturggled on for those 4 days, but as we landed back in the UK, my first job upon getting in the car to drive home was to book a doctors appointment - because I knew something was dreadfully wrong.
I had Graves Disease.
Graves is an auto immune disease of the thyroid - an overactive thyroid.
The effects of this were thorough, and effectively brought me to my knees - there didn't appear to be a piece of me this thing didn't touch or negatively affect. Treatment has been lengthy and continues to this day,
Without going in to maudlin detail of how much I hate having a thyroid disorder - I can say that as far as this blog post is concerned, the long term effect has been to waste my muscles, increase my weight and increase it quickly and to limit my ability to engage in meaningful cardio workouts.
This has all be exacerbated by my age of course - so the perfect storm has meant I have started to feel trapped inside a body I don't really recognise much nor like living in.
Katy and I have been struggling for several years now with a number of aborted attempts at getting some control back, who would have thought losing a bit of weight could be so darn difficult.
It is almost as if my own body rebels against me.
I was beginning to despair - someone get me a tent, I need something to wear!!
However, I'm not dead yet, and nor do I intend to let this best me - not just yet anyway.
To that end I can report for the first time in something like 20 years, I've gone and joined a gym, because Heather has a new plan.......
Friday 31 October 2014
Faith ...by Heather
'You gotta have faith...'
So sings George Micheal.
Who am I? The honest answer is I simply have no idea.
I am 52. Married, happily enough, with 3 kids who I love as much as any mother could love. And I'm alive. Beyond this, if I think about this question, I end up feeling very uncomfortable, and my mind balks at it, and I move on. It's too much.
However, I keep coming back to it - like an obsession. If you have read Justin Cronin's 'The Passage', you will be all too aware of the smokes constantly asking, Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?
Well they are semi dead people infected with a virus which renders them almost souless and contorts them into something savage. Above that, there is nothing.
There is more to it than that, you know - in the same way, there is more to me than a chronological age and a scrap of family.
Some years ago, actually a lot of years ago - I was given one of these pseudo psychology tests to do, I've always been a sucker for these. I was asked a series of questions, seemingly unrelated - my answers were black, lonely and scared - and it turns out, these answers demonstrated my deep seated feeling about death.
I don't remember the questions exactly but I very much remember these answers, because what it said in that jokey pop psycho babble sort of way was a hitherto unknown fact for me, this really was my deeply felt view and this knowledge has stayed with me to this day, because however inaccurate the basis of the test, the bald truth was, that when I thought it through, that was exactly how I viewed death and that knowledge was terrifying - a thought to be avoided, because dark, lonely and scary it was.
Who am I?
Well I can tell you I am highly strung and fidgety, I am introverted, (it took me a long time to work that out actually because I confused confidence with extrovertism) but I avoid the social because I don't really like being with people all that much - fundamentally I don't really like people much at all. I like individuals, don't get me wrong, I'm not a sociopath; but I don't like large presses of humanity and I find it hard to be compassionate.
In fact I inwardly cringe at myself at how hard nosed, cynical and uncaring I can be - that's hard to swallow. I don't like these facets of myself, but I accept them, because there is no denying they form the core of what I am. But what I am is not the same as Who am I?
I find it far easier to feel compassion for animals, I don't know why; I would go out of my way to help an injured badger on the road side whilst I would not be the good Samaritan to a beggar on the street corner - I'm quick to see the bad in folk and think everyone is on the make. I wonder if this says much much more about me than it does about them.
My Mother, is the dotty old girl who gets on the bus and talks to complete strangers, she will know their entire life history between the short hop from home to town, she has this heady knack of getting to the crux of peoples lives and they spill their guts out to her and she absorbs it and crucially, is the very body of compassion and empathy.
I'm confused by how she does this, but more importantly, why? Is she just nosy? She shrugs, I don't understand her, nor she, me. Because I will huddle away in the corner desperate not to make eye contact let alone 'talk' - why would I be interested in someone else's sorrows? Why would I waste any time investing it in someone I don't know and truly don't care about?
That makes her the better person I feel, by far.
But I gotta have faith. Because I am truly not a bad person. I love the earth, and her domain, her animals and humanity at large, I would fight for a cause, because much as I don't really care about individuals I don't know, I do care they have the right to live their lives in peace and freedom, just because I don't care for them personally, doesn't mean I don't wish for them a life free of hurt.
I am presently reading a book by Eben Alexander, a neuro surgeons view of the afterlife. I have only just started it ( I know it has its detractors and why) but I like this book because he is, undeniably, a neuro surgeon, therefore he is a scientist, far superior in scientific knowledge than I - a man immured in all things essentially secular - but this man, is I see going to show me heaven. (maybe he's turning a buck, says cynical me, but maybe, just maybe, there is a grain of truth...)
I want to believe
I want to find faith
and I want to somehow redeem this person I am - somehow find what makes me worthy, because I seem to have spent 52 years concentrating on me - and now I find, I really need to know who me is, because in essence I can see what I don't like, but I want to find something that I do, some worthiness and I want 'God' to know me too.
'God' already knows. But I need to know he knows.
I want Faith.
So sings George Micheal.
Who am I? The honest answer is I simply have no idea.
I am 52. Married, happily enough, with 3 kids who I love as much as any mother could love. And I'm alive. Beyond this, if I think about this question, I end up feeling very uncomfortable, and my mind balks at it, and I move on. It's too much.
However, I keep coming back to it - like an obsession. If you have read Justin Cronin's 'The Passage', you will be all too aware of the smokes constantly asking, Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?
Well they are semi dead people infected with a virus which renders them almost souless and contorts them into something savage. Above that, there is nothing.
There is more to it than that, you know - in the same way, there is more to me than a chronological age and a scrap of family.
Some years ago, actually a lot of years ago - I was given one of these pseudo psychology tests to do, I've always been a sucker for these. I was asked a series of questions, seemingly unrelated - my answers were black, lonely and scared - and it turns out, these answers demonstrated my deep seated feeling about death.
I don't remember the questions exactly but I very much remember these answers, because what it said in that jokey pop psycho babble sort of way was a hitherto unknown fact for me, this really was my deeply felt view and this knowledge has stayed with me to this day, because however inaccurate the basis of the test, the bald truth was, that when I thought it through, that was exactly how I viewed death and that knowledge was terrifying - a thought to be avoided, because dark, lonely and scary it was.
Who am I?
Well I can tell you I am highly strung and fidgety, I am introverted, (it took me a long time to work that out actually because I confused confidence with extrovertism) but I avoid the social because I don't really like being with people all that much - fundamentally I don't really like people much at all. I like individuals, don't get me wrong, I'm not a sociopath; but I don't like large presses of humanity and I find it hard to be compassionate.
In fact I inwardly cringe at myself at how hard nosed, cynical and uncaring I can be - that's hard to swallow. I don't like these facets of myself, but I accept them, because there is no denying they form the core of what I am. But what I am is not the same as Who am I?
I find it far easier to feel compassion for animals, I don't know why; I would go out of my way to help an injured badger on the road side whilst I would not be the good Samaritan to a beggar on the street corner - I'm quick to see the bad in folk and think everyone is on the make. I wonder if this says much much more about me than it does about them.
My Mother, is the dotty old girl who gets on the bus and talks to complete strangers, she will know their entire life history between the short hop from home to town, she has this heady knack of getting to the crux of peoples lives and they spill their guts out to her and she absorbs it and crucially, is the very body of compassion and empathy.
I'm confused by how she does this, but more importantly, why? Is she just nosy? She shrugs, I don't understand her, nor she, me. Because I will huddle away in the corner desperate not to make eye contact let alone 'talk' - why would I be interested in someone else's sorrows? Why would I waste any time investing it in someone I don't know and truly don't care about?
That makes her the better person I feel, by far.
But I gotta have faith. Because I am truly not a bad person. I love the earth, and her domain, her animals and humanity at large, I would fight for a cause, because much as I don't really care about individuals I don't know, I do care they have the right to live their lives in peace and freedom, just because I don't care for them personally, doesn't mean I don't wish for them a life free of hurt.
I am presently reading a book by Eben Alexander, a neuro surgeons view of the afterlife. I have only just started it ( I know it has its detractors and why) but I like this book because he is, undeniably, a neuro surgeon, therefore he is a scientist, far superior in scientific knowledge than I - a man immured in all things essentially secular - but this man, is I see going to show me heaven. (maybe he's turning a buck, says cynical me, but maybe, just maybe, there is a grain of truth...)
I want to believe
I want to find faith
and I want to somehow redeem this person I am - somehow find what makes me worthy, because I seem to have spent 52 years concentrating on me - and now I find, I really need to know who me is, because in essence I can see what I don't like, but I want to find something that I do, some worthiness and I want 'God' to know me too.
'God' already knows. But I need to know he knows.
I want Faith.
Wednesday 29 October 2014
Spirit of Change...by Heather
October 2014Well there is no doubt about it. Katy and I are pretty bad bloggers, almost as bad as we are weight loss campaigners.
We are failing.
But, we are failing with flair.
Because fattening and middle aged we may be - but done for? No we are not. Far from it.
We are I suppose either weak willed eating machines or victim to our hormones and age - maybe something of both - but whilst we haven't blogged of late, we have continued to live our kindred life-line; two souls, an Atlantic away from each other - yet strangely symbiotic. Divided by culture and even personality - we don't look or act the same - and often we look at something from very different directions. But the fact remains we are looking at the same thing, at the same time - and we know, almost telepathically, that the other, has reached the same point of reference in our life journey.
It's weird that someone so removed, so distant can be the person so close. And it has always been that way, right from our very first virtual 'hello',
Both of us are still fed up about weight gain - but we are finding that whilst our angst hasn't lessened exactly, we are approaching it from a different direction - our outlook has widened outwards in to how we interact with our world, and how we calm the inner storm - we are searching peace in our world, and if we can't look sveldt while we are doing it, then at least we can learn to be at peace with our new found selves, and maybe even start to like ourselves a teeny bit more.
This has been slowly unwinding for us; and as with everything, our approach to the same quest has taken slightly different path - Katy seems to be reaching outwards - and she is finding new positive energy whilst I seem more introspective and meditative.
Whatever it is - I am liking these new Heather and Katy approaches - and we will be sharing our thoughts more regularly, because there does appear to be a real spirit of change in the air.
Sunday 11 August 2013
Well Being.......by Heather
Last week I listened to Liz Gilbert's 'Eat Pray Love' on my iphone. This would be the second time I've 'read' the book. I like it. Much better than the film, which I didn't much care for.
Liz Gilbert is either just incredibly lucky in life or you really should take 'Eat Pray Love' with an enormous pinch of salt!
However, if you take the vox pop spiritualism out of it and just enjoy the escapism - its a lovely book. It also has moments and homilies that are worth listening to or just taking a little time to think over.
I am always awed by the bit early in the book, when snivelling and moany - she talks to God as she is slumped on the bathroom floor; and asks for help. And from somewhere - she is told to go back to bed. Which she promptly does and her world unfurls for her in perfect synchronicity there after. Nice.
One of the things I have had difficulty with of late has been my personal relationship with 'God'. With my spiritual sensibility. It doesn't matter what my particular religious persuasion is - I won't fetter you, the reader with what I believe - suffice to say I just feel disconnected and bereft. God isn't with me.
Yesterday evening, I took myself off to my local church. It is a beautiful old Victorian type Anglican church tucked away in a hidden corner of the village - the gravestones sit moss covered and scattered around the church yard amongst trees and tussocks of grass. In the western side of the church yard is the ubiquitous church yard Yew tree - twisted and gnarled - whose bough's splay helpfully into a low lying 'seat'
I sat down, cradled in the tree's bough - and listened to the silence. Not quite perfect silence, wood pigeons cooed deeply and a warm and gentle wind whistled through the leaves of neighbouring trees, but it was silent enough - and as I sat there, out loud I asked God to find me.
In a moment sublime - worthy of anything written by Liz Gilbert - the sun suddenly burst through the gathering clouds across the Yew tree and straight over where I sat - and I was at once bathed in a marvellous warm glow and I felt suddenly and completely at peace - there was absolutely no doubting, at that very moment God surely found me - and I happily accept the grace.
Liz Gilbert is either just incredibly lucky in life or you really should take 'Eat Pray Love' with an enormous pinch of salt!
However, if you take the vox pop spiritualism out of it and just enjoy the escapism - its a lovely book. It also has moments and homilies that are worth listening to or just taking a little time to think over.
I am always awed by the bit early in the book, when snivelling and moany - she talks to God as she is slumped on the bathroom floor; and asks for help. And from somewhere - she is told to go back to bed. Which she promptly does and her world unfurls for her in perfect synchronicity there after. Nice.
One of the things I have had difficulty with of late has been my personal relationship with 'God'. With my spiritual sensibility. It doesn't matter what my particular religious persuasion is - I won't fetter you, the reader with what I believe - suffice to say I just feel disconnected and bereft. God isn't with me.
Yesterday evening, I took myself off to my local church. It is a beautiful old Victorian type Anglican church tucked away in a hidden corner of the village - the gravestones sit moss covered and scattered around the church yard amongst trees and tussocks of grass. In the western side of the church yard is the ubiquitous church yard Yew tree - twisted and gnarled - whose bough's splay helpfully into a low lying 'seat'
I sat down, cradled in the tree's bough - and listened to the silence. Not quite perfect silence, wood pigeons cooed deeply and a warm and gentle wind whistled through the leaves of neighbouring trees, but it was silent enough - and as I sat there, out loud I asked God to find me.
In a moment sublime - worthy of anything written by Liz Gilbert - the sun suddenly burst through the gathering clouds across the Yew tree and straight over where I sat - and I was at once bathed in a marvellous warm glow and I felt suddenly and completely at peace - there was absolutely no doubting, at that very moment God surely found me - and I happily accept the grace.
Exercise regime ..........by Heather
You could be forgiven for thinking that I am all about diet and weight loss - certainly since Christmas that has been my sincerest wish - lose some weight, it's now almost a mantra with me. And in honesty I have had sporadic successes.
I recently went for a hospital medical check up - I have to have them at least quarterly to monitor my dodgy thyroid - and they weigh me every time. The nurse this time commented that I had lost weight - yes I agreed but secretly I was still unsatisfied - I wanted more.
However it has occurred to me of late, that I have been too focused on the weight loss - some of it has been deliberate. I haven't really felt very ready for exercise. But as of now, this feels somewhat changed.
However it has occurred to me of late, that I have been too focused on the weight loss - some of it has been deliberate. I haven't really felt very ready for exercise. But as of now, this feels somewhat changed.
Katy and I have long been keen to address the other issues - exercise being one keystone and overall mental well being a very close second.
I know that I have neglected both of these facets and the change in thinking is way overdue.
I mentioned my thyroid - and the effect of having a massive problem with hyperthyroidism has been the complete loss of muscle strength the disease wreaks on a body; especially eroding the thigh and upper arm muscles. The road to recovery has taken a long 18months of medication - and only now am I feeling ready to start exercising again. I tinkered with it more than 10 months ago - but it was too soon I realised. But I genuinely feel much stronger now - and ready to move the booty.
But what to do? It's not like I can just take up from where I left off 2 years ago - I have been severely punished by this disease and it isn't a simple case of strapping on the trainers and off I go!
So I have spent some time thinking about what I could do.
It's so easy to be carried away by the summer weather and light nights - something that won't last here in the UK for very much longer.
I decided not to worry too much about the weather or the light. Just enjoy the fact we have both right now - and try my hand at something, anything. But......
I don't like going to a gym
I'm not keen on swimming
I can't run.
I don't fancy any team sports
and nor do I want to join in a group of any sort - I meet enough people at work - I want my own space
I don't fancy any team sports
and nor do I want to join in a group of any sort - I meet enough people at work - I want my own space
I decided I wanted to do something I liked, enjoyed - rather than choosing an activity because that is what I'm supposed to do.
So I have chosen to a) cycle. I have a bicycle and I like gentle cycling - and I live in rural Leicestershire - its almost a crime not to be out and about to be honest!
b) Walking. That's gentle rambles rather than hiking or hill walking at this stage.
c) My old fave - Yoga. I bought in to the online course Yogaglo not so long ago. I have been very hit and miss with it- but this week, that is to be remedied.
This weekend I accomplished an 8mile cycle and a 3 mile ramble. I realise that's not breaking any records, but as starts go - its been lovely.
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