Time
I’ve been thinking a bit about time. The following images each communicate time in a different way. Chronos measures and marks time. The hands of time never idle.
Kairos is different, it is time within and beyond time, transcended time suspended and eternal. Kairos cannot be measured by shadow, sand or hand but exists in timelessness.
Another type of time is Synchronos. This is the point at which times intersect in a given moment. This time walks through ancient ruins and in a moment you hear the rocks sing the ancient chants. This is the time of destinies meeting; north, south, east and west, a communion of pilgrims on a journey.
(I’ve just discovered my watch has stopped telling the time!)
London, Ireland; County Clare – The Burren
Wow
I’m reading the Anne Lamott’s latest book. It’s a book on prayer that is inspirational without leaving me feeling guilty. Anyway, Anne says “Wow” means we are not dulled to wonder. The word “Wow” is thought to have been used first by Thomas Burns in a poem 1871 “Tam o’ Shanter” “An’, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!” “Unco” means strange and unfamiliar.
I find myself praying “wow” quite a lot!
Hope
I was reading, if you want to see a rainbow you need to be between the sun and the rain with the sun at your back. Beauty like this needs a storm. The light shines in the darkness. That’s what hope is.
Bridge over time
I met my great great great grandfather this week. Born 1791 – died 1869. A stone in the ground says this is where he lived and died. His name was John. John was the son of William whose father was also William. John (1791) married Mary Dare (m1817) and had a son named John, who had a son named John, who had a son name Charles my grandfather.
I walked the fields of Culmstock (Devon) separated by time but reunited by the ground.
New book “Courage to Lead”
My new book is hot off the presses at Blurb! Take a sneak peek and place your order if you’re so inclined…
February 2017
Lewis Pass (St James Walkway)
South Island Robin
Harper Pass
The Muse
Every now and then, you need to hear
another voice from one who sees through
all the facade,
who can cut steel with a knife
and evoke hope, in the most desolate desert.
She sits down softly beside you
and whispers of disappointed dreams
and adventures that did not have the courage
to leave home.
It’s not so much what she says
that penetrates your toughened glass exterior,
it’s what is not said,
the question and the pause that waits.
A light exposing hidden recesses,
terrifying,
comforting,
guiding.
And then,
just as you think you can second guess her next question
she’s gone,
her work is done.
You and only you
can walk this road less travelled.
The Priest
Sometimes words are too small to capture
the magnitude of our life together.
Words like . . .
Gratitude
Fear
Failure
Betrayal
Pain
Loss
Grief
Celebration
Hope
Wonder
Intimacy
Community
These words belong to the priest,
who collects then in the chalice
of human experience, and offers them as
wine to nourish the soul.
The Poet
Who has time to read between the lines and tell the untold story?
Who can foresee the changing seasons by the falling of a single leaf?
Who has the courage to tell the emperor he is naked?
Who has the strength to do the heavy lifting, with silence?
Who is the one in your organization who can split the knottiest of wood,
with a solitary word?
Who can describe a bird in flight, without words?
Who arm wrestles with Ambiguity and goes fifteen rounds with Paradox undefeated?
Who picks up the broken and makes a sculpture of beauty?
Who breathes life into the corporate soul?
Who is never seen at award ceremonies?
The Poet.
Bring back the ancient art of the Bard!